


Written in the Scars of This Heart

by jalen_mara, notpmaHleM



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bodyguard!Jon, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Light Angst, Medium Burn, Model!Dany, Modern Westeros, The smut that was promised, We’ve achieved LIME y’all, Will update tags as we go, fuck D&D, lemons ahoy, lucky chapter 7, mentions of abuse, oh yeah, our beta and one reader have accused us of 'edging' the audience so far, physical and emotional, real life world issues coming into play, trigger warnings added to individual chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2019-08-11 02:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 143,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jalen_mara/pseuds/jalen_mara, https://archiveofourown.org/users/notpmaHleM/pseuds/notpmaHleM
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen, supermodel and face of House Targaryen, a rising star in the world of Fashion, is commonly known as the most beautiful woman in the world.And someone wants her dead.Jon Snow, running from the ghosts of his own past, lands the job any man would kill for— protecting her. But can he protect his own heart from her?





	1. Winter storms have come and darkened my sun

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, this chapter would not have been possible without the help from three very special human beans who have given us the gifts of their talents in more ways then one. We are forever in your debt, and so thankful for each of you. ❤️
> 
> First, to justwanderingneverlost for her BEAUTIFUL moodboard! It was as if you crawled into our minds and pulled out exactly what we had envisioned! 
> 
> Second, to LustOnMyFingers for the breathtaking manips— seriously, you are a gift and the whole chapter hinged on what you have done. We couldn’t be happier!! 
> 
> Thirdly, to aliciutza, for her beta work, and making both of us laugh and rediscover our delight in this fic after a month of working on it. You are an absolute treasure!
> 
> And finally — to Mel. A month ago when we were chatting in tumblr and you confided that you had an idea for a bodyguard!Jon AU, you graciously allowed me to squee that I had the same idea, and for gods only know what reason, when I suggested we do this TOGETHER, you didn’t toss me out the nearest window. Not only has it been a joy to work with you over the last month, but dare I say it? I think we’ve got something here! Love you— couldn’t have done this without you. ❤️

 

~*~*~*~

 

Killing her would be far too easy. 

 

If one simply wanted her dead, there were more straightforward ways of going about it. One could purchase a firearm— almost any would do. Her security was so lax these days that it would take little effort to find oneself in her dressing room, in her bedroom, in the backseat of her private car and… Pull the trigger.

 

Death and all of his friends would come for her as easily as the sun drew the dawn.

 

The challenge... yes, the challenge was in laying the trap, coaxing her into stringing the noose she had so intricately woven around her own pretty neck. This one wanted to toy with her, allowing her to see the truth of her crimes only after it was too late.

 

For her crimes were many, and for each she would answer tenfold. 

 

This one wanted a confession. To see the fear of realization dawn over her startlingly beautiful blue-green eyes, to see the hope drain from them after every safe haven had been ripped away. This one wanted her to know that she was going to die, long before she succumbed. This one wanted to feast on her terror, to know that the hell she had inflicted upon others would be revisited on her for eternity as each of her many demons dragged her screaming into all seven of the hells.

 

A syringe, a flick of a lighter, a drop of wax, and she would be none the wiser that the wine she was soon to be guzzling would mark the beginning of the end for her. And, if the Tears of Lys hidden in the wine didn’t do the trick? Well, there were other ways to poison someone, after all. 

 

A drop of manticore venom in her adored roasted locusts, an exotic delicacy she had developed a taste for in her time spent across the Narrow Sea— time spent eating out of the palms of the oppressors, rather than hearing the agonized screams of the oppressed. A fitting, slow death for one who had doomed thousands to die forgotten and alone.

 

Perhaps a few drops of nightshade in her shampoo? Slowly seeping into her scalp, her tell-tale hair the first to bear the brunt of her sins. The brilliant silver-gold strands turning grey and brittle, breaking off in her hands, spoiling her crown of glory, and finally laying her bare before the world, unable to hide her sins any longer.

 

The possibilities were endless.

 

The thin leather gloves squeaked in protest against the iron grip on the neck of the bottle of Arbor Gold— her favorite, fervently whispered throughout every magazine, newspaper, blog, and television interview across the known worlds. Something to give the sheep to gnaw upon, keeping them fat and happy until the dragon regained her appetite. An elegantly embossed card with the scrawling script of her name strewn across it arranged just so around the neck of the bottle. Mereeneese ink, commonly found in any number of area shops, the calligraphy a breathtaking work of art.

 

The Dragonpit, home of the rapidly dwindling House Targaryen, was everything this one had expected. Ostentatious and cold, the gargoyle dragon guardians hideously overwrought. The colors of their House did little to incur warmth, the irony of their words “Fire and Blood” leeching instead of giving life. Dozens of people milled about, the photo shoot on the grounds rapidly coming to an end along with what was left of Daenerys’ patience. “Family” she would be quick to point out, although the “family” she had gathered had other names for themselves: maids, personal assistants, security— glorified slaves.

 

A smooth turn of a gilded door knob revealed another cavernous room with a four-poster bed dominating the middle of the room. Instead of the normal charcoals and reds that littered every other space in the manse, this room somehow did manage to hoard a modicum of warmth for itself, earth tones of green and browns and golds swirling together to form something almost cozy, almost comfortable. It was no wonder she often closed herself in this room, cocooned against the real hurts of the world. A princess in her high tower, blessedly removed from the stink of humanity far, far below her.

 

An antique crystal goblet placed to accompany the wine, lifted from their own depleted wine cellar. The Arbor Gold was cold and crisp, the card beautiful and innocuous, the note detailing what little time was left for her tucked between the sheets of her bed as lovingly as a mother would tuck in a child. It would be found, and the game would begin. The stage set for the final act of her stunningly short life, gone before she could reach her true potential for cruelty, cut down at the knees at the height of her glory.

 

_ The _ Daenerys Targaryen deserved only the best— especially in death. She deserved so much more than that sweet release. 

 

She deserved to suffer, and so she would.

 

~*~*~*~

 

  


 

  


 

  


 

~*~*~*~

 

_ The air was stifled as the heat of bodies closed in around him, angry murmurs rippling through the crowd. He could feel it echo in his chest, the unease prickling the back of his neck. In front of him was a mob of men who would not be listening to reason, letting themselves be carried forward by emotion, deaf to right and wrong. Training and instinct made him want to reach back for the gun holstered at his hip, its weight a comfort, but he forced down the urge knowing the move would be seen as aggressive and only spur on their rage. _

 

_ The Lord Commander was behind him, looking over the chaos, Edd at the ready by the door to shuffle the man in command through if things took a turn for the worse. Jon had prepared for this moment all the while hoping it never happened. Gritting his teeth to give relief to his own fury and frustration, he held his ground as Lord Commander Mormont tried to regain control of his men. _

 

_ A loud curse rang out above the heads of the men, amplifying the black energy, Jon’s body tensing as he rolled to the balls of his feet, ready to move, to protect, to defend. The brilliant red hair of Tormund caught his eye, the men being hurried out ahead of whatever was about to happen, hatred and filth being spewed at the retreating forms.  _

 

_ The heavy thump of the door being barred sounded throughout the room, separating the men and women of the Freefolk from the men of the Night’s Watch. It seemed to amp up the crowd’s rage, the vitriol of it all pouring over Jon, the bitterness of it sticking to the roof of his mouth, his senses sharpening to try and see who would be the first to break. _

 

_ Who knew peace talks would turn the Night’s Watch into such mindless beasts unable to see reason over traditions? _

 

_ He could feel the moment before everything snapped, time seeming to slow to a crawl as men surged forward. He risked a glance over his shoulder to Edd and gave the man the signal before turning back to the crowd, trying to be as formidable as the Wall they were all stationed at.  _

 

_ It was of little use, his hand finally drawing back as he was swarmed, his fingers wrapping around the cool metal as he pulled the gun free, a dozen of men suddenly in his space. A voice spoke low in his ear. A blazing hot ripping sensation in his chest. Then another. _

 

_ “For the Watch.” _

  
  


The blaring of the alarm startled him, bringing forth a painful awareness as the dregs of the dream dug its claws in deep and wouldn’t let go. Jon gasped feeling the ghost of pain in his chest, a tightness over the scars that stretched in protest as he dragged in an unwilling breath. Then another. Heart rate starting to slow, he reached over with a mindless slap at his phone, the annoyance finally silenced.

 

He let out an exhale of defeat. One year. One full fucking year and he could still feel steel sliding into him, the burn before the numbness, the ice that still coated him to this day. Remembering looking up at the ceiling as he fell, the nothingness until pain, pain dulled by medicine and the bright blinding lights of an ICU ward.

 

They gave him a medal. A piece of polished silver declaring honor and bravery for keeping his Lord Commander alive. A pat on the back and words of a job well done, then pushed him out the door. A solid dismissal to the man who had been second in command and groomed to take over. They were afraid, did not want a man who’d been injured like that still active, a liability in the field, afraid he’d snap if provoked. 

 

Some days he wondered what was worse, the physical or mental scars.

 

Wincing with the tension coiled up within, he swung his legs over the bed, taking a moment to shake his head, trying to clear the tendrils of the nightmare away. A bottle of unused sleeping pills sat next to his phone, mocking him, tempting him, promising him sleep only to lure him into captivity, making him dependent and ensnared. It was a path followed once and he had swore to himself never again. Now they sat as a grim reminder of how it could be worse.

 

Noise slowly filtered through the sound of his pounding heartbeat in his ears, the bustling of a neighborhood waking up, cars leaving driveways, everyone unaware of his inner battle as they hurried along to work. His eyes adjusted to the dim light creeping through the curtains, over his suitcase spilling over with his meager belongings. Not a lot to show for twenty-six years of life.

 

Scrubbing a rough hand over his face, he stood, straightening his back and listened to the resounding pops of his spine slipping back into place. In his head he could hear the nagging of his sister Sansa who always was trying to convince him and Robb that this line of work wasn’t good for them. Not that they would listen. And as he would tell her, effectively silencing her complaints, this was probably better than the Night’s Watch... probably.

 

With another sigh he made it across the room, Robb’s spare room that he was setting up to occupy for a duration, blinking in defense to the glare of the bathroom vanity, shivering a bit with the cold. The first thing he’d done after his late night arrival was close the heating vents to his quarters, too used to the frigid temperatures of the North to be comfortable in the balmy warmth of King’s Landing.

 

With the need to torture himself further, he turned on the shower, ignoring the handle for hot water and sucked in harsh breath before he climbed in below the punishing spray. He let the freezing water shock him to full wakefulness, teeth starting to chatter as he held on stubbornly. It numbed him, filling his head with nothing but  _ cold _ , ripping him away from the last of the nightmare he’d lived and subsequently relived over and over. Finally, his body crying out for mercy, he relented, twisting the handle to let heat into the stream, relaxing as his muscles finally filled with warmth.

 

He allowed himself to bask, giving in to his body’s craving for heat, soaking it into his pores allowing himself a moment of relief. Finally, with the hangover from a poor night’s sleep fading, he made himself turn away from the comfort, turning off the shower and reaching for the towel.

 

Ignoring the distorted image of himself in the mirror, his marred chest standing out through the steamy reflection, he dried himself off, slipping back into clothing trying to turn his mind away from the past to focus on the now. 

 

The now was a job. A mystery job that had Robb calling him down to the overrun capital despite his dislike of the south. Pulling his wet hair off his face and securing it with a band, he steeled himself for what was to come and left the security of the bedroom.

 

The welcoming smell of coffee hit him as he stepped into the hallway. It tickled and teased him into becoming more alert as he moved towards the kitchen, heading towards the rustling of a person moving within the space.

 

“You made it!”

 

A true smile broke out as he rounded the corner of the dining room table and into the kitchen, his good sister’s voice greeting him with a genuine warmth, and found Talisa Stark standing at the counter pouring herself a cup of coffee. He ducked in for a hug, knowing she would good naturedly demand it and she was one of the few he was comfortable enough to return the affection. From the moment Robb had introduced her nearly four years ago, she and Jon had gotten along famously, bonding over the pair of them always being under Catelyn Stark’s look of disapproval.

 

“Late last night.” He confirmed, appreciative as she handed him the full cup she had just poured. “I tried to be quiet, figured Robb could use the beauty sleep.” He bussed her cheek in thanks as she chuckled. “Speaking of Robb, he’s been really god’s damned secretive about this job. Do you know why?”

 

Pretty brown eyes narrowed as she studied him. “I know what the job is and before you ask, no I’m not telling you. He’s on a call then he’ll be out and you can pester him.”

 

Pulling out a seat at the island, he sipped at his coffee, preparing himself to wait for his brother, letting himself adjust to being in the presence of company again. The hot liquid burnt his tongue and he cursed, feeling Talisa’s heavy gaze causing him to scrunch his shoulders up and pretend to ignore it. Finally he relented, knowing he was no match for her stubbornness and turned to meet the concerned scrutiny, his eyebrows raised in question.

 

She sat down in front of him, elbows planting on the counter. “How are you doing Jon?”

 

He wanted to blow off the question, give some clever quip as a retort but she was  _ staring  _ at him, voice full of concern and it caused anything sarcastic to die on the tip of his tongue. Giving a rough clear of his throat to clear the spasm that had seized it, he ducked his head. “That bad huh?”

 

“Jon.” Her hand covered his, a gentle touch. “We worry about you. Your sister worries about you.”

 

Blinking against the sudden burn in his eyes, he clenched his fist in reflex, making a noise of disapproval as he tried desperately to not be overcome by the wonderful sense of family. “I’m hanging in there.”

 

She didn’t push and he was grateful, the sound of footsteps coming down the hall making him swallow a few times in vain attempts to pull himself back together. He felt vulnerable, fighting the urge to snap his teeth like a cornered wolf, something he needed to mask from Robb. Talisa gave his hand a squeeze of reassurance before letting go and picking up her mug.

 

“Brother, you made it through the harrowing streets of King’s Landing!”

 

There was affection and delight in Robb’s voice, an infectious smile lighting his face and Jon climbed to his feet to be embraced by his brother in a back slapping hug. The loneliness wrapped around his heart chipped away a little under the warmth of the greeting. “Barely. You going to tell me why I had to hurry my arse down here?

 

“Aye.” The answer was laced with humor as Robb took a step back. The smile faded from his face as he studied Jon, concern flickering across his handsome features. “Arya wasn’t lying, you look like right shit.”

 

Jon heard the noise of admonishment that Talisa made and fought down the nettles that crawled under his skin. He loved his brother, but there was always that certain insecurity he’d felt since boyhood, trying not to and always failing, comparing himself to the man who could do no wrong in his family’s eyes. He wasn’t stupid or blind, he knew how haggard and worn he looked and didn’t need it pointed out. “Thanks.”

 

“Just an observation.” Robb raised his hands in defeat, voice softening. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t look like a haunted version of my brother”

 

Caught between the warmth of someone caring and acerbic sting of anger, he sighed, shoulders slumping forward with weariness. He was  _ trying _ . Demons of the past did not make for easy bedfellows.

 

“I’ve got to go now. You two get along.” 

 

Talisa stood, her stern voice a distraction, Robb turning to her and Jon was grateful for it. As a testament to how tired he really was, he noticed she was dressed for work in her dark scrubs, a color she said would hide the blood and other fluids she might come in contact with. He knew her medical residency was almost complete, Robb often joking about how they needed someone around who would sew up gashes and not faint at the sight of gaping wounds. He wasn’t wrong, Jon noted, absent mindedly rubbing a thumb through his brow, down the cheek following the silver trail of a scar. It had been a nasty infection by the time he had made it down here for a visit, Talisa cursing the medical care of the Watch and preventing him from probably losing his eye.

 

There was a few minutes spent in a flurry as she prepared to leave and then the door closed leaving the two brothers in a silent stand-off, the only noise the quiet humming of the refrigerator. Jittery and unsettled under Robb’s blue eye gaze, he huffed out a breath, breaking first “Robb-“

 

“Jon, don’t tell me you’re fine, I’m lookin’ right at you.” Robb’s shoulders squared in preparation for an argument.

 

Frustration building, Jon wrestled it down, waiving a hand at his brother in a huff. “I appreciate your concern, I do. I’m as fine as I can be so just tell me why I’m down here. What case to you have that you need my help?”

 

With some resignation, Robb slipped onto the barstool that Talisa had occupied. “We are going back to this at another time, fair warning.” He cleared his throat and leaned back, crossing his arms. “I got a call from Tyrion Lannister.”

 

Jon made a face of disgust. “We are going to be hired by the Lannisters?”

 

“Nah, he’s the General Counsel working for Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen.”

 

The name Targaryen tickled the back of his mind, but didn’t bring forth any solid memories. “And?”

 

Robb settled into business mode. “Daenerys Targaryen has received death threats on multiple occasions and someone even attempted to poison her. For some reason that I’m still not understanding, her security team isn’t taking this as serious as Tyrion believes they should be.”

 

Jon scoffed at the absurdity of security not taking death threats and attempted murder seriously. The memory of standing before Jeor Mormont flashed in his mind.  _ The men are restless, there’s talks of mutiny.  _ He shook his head to clear it.

 

“So he contacted me. Tyrion wants someone on Viserys anytime he leaves Rhaenys Hill and I’m assignin’ me.” Robb’s voice took on a tone that Jon couldn’t decipher. “He wants round the clock protection for Daenerys Targaryen and I want you on her.”

 

Putting thumbs to his temples he applied pressure, trying to silence the uncertainty that had resided inside of him for the past year. “Why me? It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

 

“Because I need help with this. Because I trust you to have my back.”

 

Jon looked up to see nothing but sincerity on Robb’s face. “I’m assumin’ you have a file?” Robb nodded a confirmation. “Who are the Targaryen’s?”

 

Robb snorted in amusement. “You didn’t get the news at the Wall? House Targaryen doesn’t ring a bell? The fashion empire?”

 

Jon winced at the mention of the Wall. “The Night’s Watch doesn’t have much use for fashion. We wore uniforms if you remember.”

 

“Aye.” Robb’s laugh helped lighten the pressure in his chest. “Ugly black uniforms.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Jon stood needing something to do, the prospect of going back into this line of work making him antsy with an anticipation of excitement or fear, he wasn’t sure. Making his way to the coffee pot, he helped himself to another cup, mind skimming ahead with the comfort of familiarity, planning out the steps needed for proper preparation of the job. “When do we meet them?”

 

“This afternoon. Tyrion’s sent over their information already.”

 

The dossier contained important details including the City Watch’s report on the poisoned wine, the people closest to the siblings and current security details. Not enough, Jon knew. He wanted to know who they were in public and in private, see what ghosts lingered about. He may not be trying to solve who was trying to hurt Daenerys Targaryen, but it might give him a better idea of how to keep her alive.

 

“Then I’ve got time for my own information gatherin’?” He waited for Robb’s nod. “I’ll be ready.”

 

“Oh I know you will.” Again, Robb’s smile was a little too humorous, as if he had a secret he wasn’t sharing. “Happy researching.”  
  


~*~*~*~

 

He was cursing Robb.

 

With his fourth cup of coffee that he definitely did not need at his elbow, Jon was well into the unforgiving internet saga that was the Targaryen family. He briefly wondered if he and Robb were crazy for getting involved.

 

The Targaryen’s were a mess and had been for a while.

 

And he definitely noticed that Daenerys Targaryen was distractingly gorgeous.

 

He had not been prepared for the visceral jolt that ran through him, abused heart giving a dangerous thump upon seeing the search results of her name. Hundreds of pictures popped up, the signature Targaryen hair shining on the small screen. She had sea blue eyes and plump lips turned down in a pout, reminding him of the fact that he was still on most accounts, a healthy male, flesh and blood, that blood stirring at the picture of her tousled and sleepy, alluding to the after effects of carnal activities. Suddenly, Robb’s humor made a lot more sense. Gods, if he was this captivated by a picture, what was it going to be like, stuck in her presence every day.

 

Picking up his coffee, he took another sip, focusing on the bitter taste, something else to think about and forced himself to keep scrolling past the images of her looking back at him, diving deeper into the life lived under the spotlight.

 

They called her the Dragon Queen, a direct nod to her heritage and she looked the part, a fierce and aloof set to her face as she strode down a runway with purpose. A notebook at his side, he penciled down what seemed to be the habits easily noticed, circling a few in sheer amazement that nobody in her current security team seemed worried about the fact she visited the same bakery every Tuesday, made regular visits to Flea Bottom every month to check on the charity she had founded,  _ Rhaegar’s Harp, _ or that she had people flocking her wherever she went. It grated on him, closing and opening his fist to relieve frustration, the thought of having to force her to change her routine already giving him a headache.

 

He hissed out a sigh when he came across the information about her parents, Rhaella Targaryen died in childbirth, and Jon tried not to acknowledge the sympathy of never knowing a mother, finding a harsh article written on the supposedly Targaryen madness that caused Aerys to take his own life.

 

Stopping for a breather, his own childhood weaving intricately into his opinion and feelings about this job, he stood up to stretch, check the time. He needed to keep a professional mental distance, keep himself focused on the fact this was a  _ job _ and personal injections had no place in it.

 

With that reminder set firmly in his head he sat back down, allowing himself to read how she and her brother Viserys were raised by the oldest sibling Rhaegar, who had pulled the once wealthy family back from the brink of losing everything and building House Targaryen from the ground up. There was endless information on Rhaegar, but he pushed that aside to focus on the youngest Targaryen.

 

She was the face of the business, bright and bubbly, her time spent modeling and in charity work, her few but disastrous relationships kept relatively quiet. There was not much that was scandalous in her past— a few wild parties, no arrests or fights. 

 

Viserys was another matter, stories of a mean spirited rich boy making headlines. There were numerous articles on Viserys’ preferences for high dollar escorts, known drug abuse, the countless times he was in and out of rehab. In the middle of it all, Jon found the surprising information of Rhaegar’s untimely overdose.

 

The paparazzi photos were cruel, swarming like flies at the funeral. She was hiding her grief behind big sunglasses and current security guy, tiny and vulnerable in the sea of strangers surrounding her. Jon felt it reverberate in his chest, the taste of sorrow rising up in his throat and suddenly he was back in time, standing in the rain, Arya tucked under his arm as they said goodbye to the only father he’d ever know, the mother of his siblings, his own dark sunglasses hiding his hangover of sorrow.

 

With fingers pressed to his eyes, trying to push away the memory, he took a deep breath, the scattered focus coming back to him slowly.  _ Compartmentalize, Jon.  _ After taking another moment to breathe, he went back to the article, ignoring the ache in his chest, reading over the surprising horror about a man who has pulled his failing family out of despair, then seemingly succumbed to the pressure of it.

 

There was a hesitation growing within him, leaving him unsure. A vapid rich girl was an easy job, easy to ignore and simply protect like he was paid to do. But, by what he could find on Daenerys, she was not the typical spoiled, tedious woman he expected. No, she was a survivor, broken and determined. And broken was dangerous. Broken meant pieces scattered about, sharp edges to be cut upon. Jon knew all about broken.

 

Running restless fingers through banded hair, he got up, the need to step away from it a bit overwhelming. He found himself wandering down to where Robb sat behind the desk that Jon knew used to be their father’s, paperwork covering the old wooden surface. He leaned against the door jam and waited for his brother to look up.

 

“Why did you assign me Daenerys?”

 

Robb sat back, his chair squeaking in protest as he studied Jon. “She needs full time protection. I thought it would be easier for you rather than me. Why?”

 

_ Because when I look at her past it drags mine back up to the surface and I’m trying to forget it all. _

 

“Curiosity. You did your research on them I’m assumin’?

 

“Aye.” The amused look was back on Robb’s face and again Jon silently cursed his brother. “Bit of a disaster, aren’t they?”

 

“That might be an understatement.” Pulling up the spare chair, he sat himself carefully down. “You could have pulled anybody else in for this job, why me?”

 

“How many times am I going to have to answer this before you get it through your thick head.” The words were full of exasperation. “Someone has decided that Daenerys should be dead. So I need you,  _ she  _ needs you to do your job and keep her alive.” There was a long pause. “You’re the best, Jon.”

 

The words soaked through him as if he were a sponge, a soothing balm to the wound of self doubt. And in that moment he made his decision. “Then I guess we better go check this out.”

 

“That’s the spirit.” Robb stood, scooping up his phone before picking up the jacket tossed over the back of his chair. “Now, you remember the rules?”

 

“Aye.” Jon rolled his eyes at the unnecessary reminder. “Never let her out of your sight. Never let your guard down. I know the job, Robb.”

 

With a quick bark of a laugh, Robb tossed the keys, a quick snap of the wrist and Jon caught them as they hurtled towards his head _. _

 

“You’re forgetting the most important part, Jon. Never fall in love.”

 

~*~*~*~

 


	2. I was not built to break, I didn’t know my own strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Unprofessional, but he couldn’t help but notice, again, that she was gorgeous, silver and starry against the vivid colors of the room, against the bright red of the robe she was wrapped in, feet tucked up under her as she scribbled on the pad in front of her, big sweeping motions, brow creased in concentration._
> 
>  
> 
> _Shifting his weight he knocked on the wall and flashed her a smile as she looked up. “Daenerys Targaryen, I presume.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to-
> 
> justwanderingneverlost for her amazing moodboard! I’m not sure what type of sorcery she uses, but she nails it every time. Thank you so much for always being willing to do this!
> 
> aliciutza, for always being willing to beta. You my dear, are the absolute best.
> 
> And thank you to my partner in Jonerys crime, jalen_mara. The details and world you have built for this fic just blows my mind. You are bloody brilliant and it has been an absolute blast doing this with you. Love you my friend ❤️

 

~*~*~

  
  


The sun was warm on the back of his neck, the bright glare helping to disrupt the fog that was settling in around him like a blanket. Jon tossed his hastily repacked suitcase into the back of Robb’s SUV and pulled out his sunglasses to censor the glare of the sky. He wanted to complain to his brother about the hubbub that was King’s Landing, but the anticipation of a new job and a new assignment was starting to bubble in his veins. That prickling of anticipation going from anxiety to a steady thrum of excitement. He almost hated to admit that he was craving the adrenaline that promised to come with it, the need to stay on high alert, twisting with the past trauma inside of him, making him feel a little strung out with energy.

 

“You drive, I want to look at a few more things.”

 

Tossing the keys back to Robb, he pulled out a tablet and settled into the front seat, intent of going over the files on the Targaryen’s current employees and security team, something he had neglected to do earlier, too caught up in the story of Daenerys.

 

“Have you looked at the file with their current security team?” 

 

Jon let his eyes flicker up, taking in the neighborhood — stylish and old, Visenya’s Hill noted for keeping true to its history. It was a far cry from what awaited them once they turned onto Muddy Way and into the busy madness of the city, and a harsh jolt from the wide sweeping white  expanse of wilderness  he was used to.

 

Shaking himself out of the thought, he turned on the device and found the email, then shifted his eyes to his brother, noting the tick in Robb’s jaw. “Getting to it right now.”

 

“I’m going to give you a heads up-“

 

There was something in Robb’s voice that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, as if speaking to a cornered animal. And despite not knowing why, it made Jon want to behave like one, teeth bared and hackles raised, prepared to defend himself. He swallowed down the feeling with a choking gulp.

 

“-her current head of security is Jorah Mormont…. Jeor Mormont’s son.”

 

It shouldn’t have felt like a punch in the guts to hear that name, his scars tingling, mocking him. Jeor Mormont had fought hard for Jon to remain in the Night’s Watch, claiming that a man who had almost given his life to keep his Commander alive deserved more than a discharge, honorable or not.

 

He called once a month like clockwork. Jon never answered. 

 

The sudden flash of shame had him scrambling. Scrubbing a rough hand over his face, he took a deep breath and forced himself to focus on the present, keep the past behind him. “I’m surprised a Mormont isn’t better at his job.”

 

“Tyrion alluded to the fact that Jorah might have a few issues of feelings and blind spots when it come to Daenerys.”

 

Throwing up a hand, he caught himself on the dashboard as a car cut them off, shaking his head as Robb slammed on the brakes and swore under his breath. “So, he’s going to be a pain in our arse, then?” Blind spots and issues were never good. Having feelings for the client was never good. Emotions were messy, and romantic entanglements made a difficult job that much more difficult. 

 

“Most likely.” Merging onto the Street of Sisters, Robb sighed, checking his mirrors. “And in addition to the poisoned wine, someone left her a note, in her bed.”

 

The implications were not lost on Jon and the bite of anger built in his chest. “Someone was  _ in  _ their mansion?”

 

“Yes, and they have chosen to not tell her at this time.”

 

This time it was Jon’s turn to swear, the bewilderment and frustration rolling around in his mind, until it almost gave him a headache. And he wasn’t even officially working for them yet. “Do you know what was in the note?” At his brother’s head shake of no, he asked the next important question. “Why haven’t they told her?”

 

There was a shrug that was meant to be careless, except the tension in Robb’s shoulder told a different story. “Tyrion said he’d explain it all when we got there.”

 

“I fuckin’ hope so.” He closed his tablet, suddenly uninterested in taking a closer look at the security team, rolling his head to relieve the pressure in his neck. He was good, he knew that, addicted to the game of it all, the protective tendencies that fueled him promising to be satisfied, but it didn’t mean he wanted a fight on his hands when it came to his techniques or what he needed in order to do his job and keep Daenerys alive. “Did they say how the intruder got in?”

 

“They have no idea.” There was a hint of scorn in Robb’s voice. 

 

The Dragonpit loomed in the distance, looking cold and unwelcome against the sky. It was a big place, Jon knew, the only thing left from the Targaryen’s selling out generations ago. And now, apparently he would have to go over the current security on the ground. Pinching the bridge of his nose he made a mental note of all the equipment he had packed as an idea began to take form. 

 

“Thanks for volunteering me to live here, by the way.” The words were dry and wrapped in sarcasm.

 

“I’m a married man and my beloved wife would not appreciate me staying there, for the gods only know how long.” There was a beat of silence. “ You’re good, right?”

 

“Worried about me screwing this up?” There was a bitter coating to the words, even though he  _ knew _ Robb was saying it out of concern. 

 

“No, that is one worry I don’t have. I’m making sure this is good for  _ you.” _ Robb response was easy, the tightness in Jon’s chest loosening.

 

“I’m good. I’m ready, so quit askin’. You’re not going to get a different response.” Jon listened as Rob b’s chuckled in approval, the dragons at the entry to the driveway, solemn stone guardians, coming into view. He felt the tension start to build up in his muscles, preparing himself. “Pull over here.”

 

Without a word, Robb obliged, by now used to Jon’s spur of the moment ideas. Almost to the mansion, Jon knew he needed to test what they would be up against. “I’ll see you on the inside.”

 

His brother’s slow smile was a confirmation and Jon felt the vibration of excitement roll through him as he shrugged on his leather jacket. It was scarred up and worn, a visible comparison to his own image, a familiar comfort as he shut the door and watched the taillights move towards the gate.

 

There was a buzz in his blood as he moved towards the wrought iron fence, the thrill of the game taking root inside of him. Studying the tall barrier, the relief was almost palpable, that this part hadn’t been tainted by bad memories. The outwitting and testing was his favorite piece of the set up, even if it meant the Targaryen’s needed desperately to get a better security system. 

 

He could see cameras mounted in various locations, against the side of the house, on the tree by the pond and he flashed a charming smile to whoever he hoped was watching and walked up to the tall, heavy obstacle keeping him on the street. Giving a slight push to test the sturdiness of the iron bars, he shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it over the top of the pickets to prevent any hang ups on tender flesh against the sharp edges and giving a quick look over his shoulder to see if there were any nosey neighbors, he jumped. With a mighty pull and a quick scramble, he was up and over, agile and quick, landing softly on the grass.

 

Straightening up and rescuing the abused jacket, he pulled it on once more and took his first long look at the Dragonpit, taking in what was a beautiful mansion, one of the oldest estates in King’s Landing. It was still impressive, towering over everything around it, but as he moved across the expanse of green, he noticed a few things that needed repair, some peeling paint, the manse looking a little tired, rough around the edges.

 

There was a prickle along the back of his neck with the realization that not one person was coming out to investigate a strange man walking across the lawn. Heading to the camera closest to the fence, Jon cursed as he found the frayed cords. It would be impossible to keep track of intruders when the security cameras did not work.

 

Mentally adding that to his list of things that needed prompt repair, he turned his attention to the buzz of voices around the back, the clang of equipment. Something was going on to match the volume of vans and cars parked in the drive.

 

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he decided now would be as good a time as any to see what kind of chaos the Targaryen’s had going on.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


Robb watched the form of his brother head toward the Targaryen residence, amusement mixing with worry, the dark shadow following Jon around all but visible. This job was offering the perfect excuse to bring him to King’s Landing and keep a close eye on him. The truth was, Robb did need the help— a high profile case like the Targaryen’s could only be good for  _ Stark Securities—  _ as long as nothing was mucked up.

 

Even with that, with the joy of having Jon finally around, his brother within reaching distance and not isolated away in the cold edges of the North, Robb still had some hesitation. Jon had always been broody, not that he could be blamed for all of it, but it had gotten worse when Jon had left home, Robb still harboring the kernel of resentment at their father for letting him go so easily.

 

He’d never forget that phone call in the middle of the night, the man on the other end trying to explain what happened, the numbness creeping over him until Talisa had ripped away the phone and taken control, Robb still stuck on the words,  _ there’s been an incident and Jon is in critical condition.  _ The days of horror that followed, the remaining Stark’s huddled around a hospital bed, waiting for Jon to wake back up, to  _ live. _

 

Winding up the drive, the gates loomed in front of him, old and heavy as if daring someone to enter the fortress that housed that Targaryen family. And Robb hoped that dropping Jon off in the middle of the chaos would prove to be a good idea, that the scars didn’t cripple him.

 

Pausing to push the intercom at the gate, Robb settled into the game learned at the right hand of Ned Stark. A garbled voice came over, hard to understand and he gave them the most basic of information, that he was there to see Tyrion. Much to his dismay, without so much as being asked for a name, the gates swung open.

 

Not a good impression, being admitted so easily, something to remedy as quickly as possible. Getting closer to the mansion, he noted the abundance of vehicles parked, people moving around with determination, no one looking twice at another car pulling in the drive.

 

It would be too easy to walk into this place.

 

With his keys in his pocket, Robb headed towards the door, refraining from snickering when he caught sight of Jon moving across the lawn. It wasn’t really funny, the weaknesses surrounding the fortress glaringly obvious as they both made it in without being stopped. Hopefully, when he sat down with Tyrion Lannister, they’d be able to work out these problems.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


“As you are aware, the  _ Grēza _ shoot is today,” Missandei’s crisp, alto voice filtered through the intricately carved Myrish screen as Dany fought the urge to roll her eyes as she shrugged out of her navy blazer and tailored pants, flinging them over the top for Missandei to pull down and send out for dry cleaning. Of course she remembered the shoot that she, Viserys, and the photo editor at the magazine had spent weeks devising, squabbling, and slaving over. Even if she hadn’t, the ungodsly racket happening outside of her bedroom window as PAs and gaffers struggled to bring in the set and equipment would have clued her in— there was absolutely nothing wrong with her memory or her hearing. She wasn’t a child anymore, in need of constant hand-holding and reminders.

 

“You’re due in hair and makeup with Irri in a few hours, and she asked that you wear this until then—“ A red silk robe appeared over the top of the screen and Dany dutifully unclasped her lace bra, throwing it over the screen as well before taking a moment to rub the compression lines from her shoulders and rib cage as best she could. Time, hydration, and gravity would have to ease the rest. She slipped the robe around her shoulders, tying a knot into the slippery belt that was provided and hummed in agreement as Missandei continued, scrolling through her phone to tick off each box on her to-do list.

 

“Tyrion has asked for a few moments before you go into hair and makeup and he ‘loses you to the realm of sorcery and blood magic’, so I’ve scheduled him for fifteen minutes at noon.”

 

Dany wrinkled her nose as she stepped out from behind the screen, sizing up her assistant through narrowed eyes. “I thought we had a call with the Board of  _ Rheagar’s Harp _ at noon?”

 

Missandei shook her head, her wild, caramel curls bouncing in the filtered sunlight streaming through Dany’s bedroom windows. “The Board requested a postponement this morning, so I’ve moved them to later in the month.”

 

“When?” Dany could feel her eyebrows raising in suspicion, but willed her face into an impassive mask. It would not do to appear in Irri’s chair with new lines and wrinkles, no matter how strange it was for the Board to ask for a change so soon before a scheduled call. Something about the request rankled her, setting her even more on edge than she had been since ‘the incident’.

 

There was a pause as Missandei scrolled through her calendar, searching for the email. “Thursday next, at three o’clock in the afternoon.”

 

Dany fought the urge to roll her eyes yet again. “Yes, I suppose they would prefer to speak in the afternoon versus the hour of the wolf. Did they say why they needed to postpone?”

 

Yet another delicate pause from Missandei as she took a breath, her keen eyes flashing slightly. “They might have mentioned that with the… recent troubles… that you be allowed to rest and recuperate before—“

 

“They are aware that I didn’t actually drink any of the poisoned wine, are they not?”

 

“They are. However,  Septon Maynard felt that you might need some time before jumping back into the strenuous world of charitable giving, and… Viserys agreed.”

 

Dany froze, her eyes flashing dangerously as she turned back to Missandei abruptly enough that her assistant took a sudden step back, knocking the antique screen just enough to set it rocking, and both women reached out to settle it before it crashed to the floor. “And why is Viserys being consulted about  _ my  _ scheduling?”

 

She could see the movement of Missandei’s long neck as the younger woman swallowed tightly. “Daenerys,” she began gently, “You’ve had a shock, and you need time to come to terms with what this threat really means.”

 

Dany shook her head firmly, pulling the robe more tightly around her. “Missandei—“ She clucked her tongue, trying to keep her anger in check. “All of this drama over some crazed fan. I’m not giving any credence to an ill and misguided individual who is most likely in need of medical assistance. So much nonsense because of one little bottle of wine that may not have even killed me!”

 

Missandei ducked her head, a flash of something unrecognizable spreading across her delicate features until her face was hidden by her mass of curls. Dany could feel her breath leave her chest in a whoosh, the crawling feeling of dread settling in her stomach. “Unless you know something I don’t?”

 

Her assistant busied herself with picking up the rest of Dany’s discarded clothing, throwing them over her arm and scurrying toward her open bedroom door. “Missandei—“ Dany’s voice cracked.

 

The young woman stilled in the doorway, turning back toward her so Dany could see only her profile, her golden eyes downcast. “It will be best if you let Tyrion explain.” She mumbled quietly before backing away once more. “I’ll come and find you when they’re ready.”

 

She was gone before Dany could reply, her mind a swirl of unnamed fears, grasping and clawing at the edges of her mind, begging for her to give in, to let the panic crack her in two, never to be whole again. Just like Rheagar had been, before the end.

 

Dany sucked in a deep breath, jerking herself back from that dark line of reasoning before it burned her alive from the inside out. Few people had seen Rheagar in the months leading up to his suicide— only his siblings bearing the full brunt of his descent into paranoia and madness, apparently brought on by the drugs polluting his system. 

 

Shaking her head to clear the dark thoughts, Dany took a few cleansing breaths before she opened her eyes. Everyone was looking for her weaknesses, and she would rather be burned beyond recognition than to let anyone find any exposed chink in her armor. Steeling her spine, she drew herself up to her full height, cinching the robe more tightly around her waist, whispering to the open air to reassure herself more than anything— “Let them come.”

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


The center of activity was taking place in some strange garden area. Jon could see them putting together a winding staircase in the sea of flowerbeds, lights being mounted on poles and adjusted, focusing in on a few select spots.

 

He walked around the outskirts of it, partially curious but mostly waiting for someone to come and stop him as he watched, getting more and more disgruntled as he was eyed, but no one came forth.

 

Finally he gave up and turned from the scene, wondering if the hordes of people were a normal occurrence on the property, a small ache in his temples starting to brew at the thought of how to implement a better system. At least he had some experience due to the Night’s Watch, anything learned with Ned Stark was on a much smaller scale, no matter how respected his father had been in this field.

 

Noting the bars on the windows, he frowned, preferring an alarm system to the possibility of being trapped inside and ignored the  growing discomfort of claustrophobia wrapping around him, the brief flash of the memory of being surrounded by bodies. Absentmindedly he rubbed the scar over h is heart, coming to a stop in front of a side door with no one watching it. Another bad mark for the current Targaryen security, with the amount of strangers on the property.

 

He let himself in.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


“Robb, right on time.” Tyrion stood up from behind his desk, face crinkled in a smile.

 

“Of course. It’s good to see you Tyrion.” Robb took the offered hand and then the offered seat, giving the other man a moment to get settled in. “The security here is fucking awful.”

 

Tyrion shook his head, climbing back into his chair. “Pleasantries over then? Well, let us get right to business.” He sat back, hands folded on the desk. “I know it's been rough around here, but I’m not sure  _ fucking awful,  _ is the correct terminology.”

 

Robb snorted at Tyrion’s butchered attempt at a Northern accent and relaxed back into the overstuffed chair, a fancy piece of furniture for being in an office. “It is correct. All I had to do was ask to see you. No one checked a name, or if you were even expecting anyone.”

 

“We are in the middle of something as you have seen.” He waved his hand in the direction of all the activities. “So it's a little more relaxed than normal.”

 

Robb leaned forward with the surge of anger that swamped through him. “Someone was in this mansion to  _ poison Daenerys Targaryen,  _ and a little more relaxed than normal is fine?  Tyrion….” He trailed off, gesturing helplessly. “Do  _ you _ even realize how serious this situation is?” 

 

Tyrion’s shrewd gaze faltered just a bit, his sigh of defeat telling Robb all he needed to know. Taking a deep breath, the smaller man retrieved a key from a chain around his neck and used it to open a desk drawer. Without a word, he retrieved a picture from the messiness and slid it silently across the desk to him. “I snapped this before the Watch arrived.”

 

Robb bit back a groan. “You tampered with the evidence?”

 

“Not intentionally. The maid found it in her bed and brought it straight to me, along with the wine and the goblet. She was afraid she’d be fired if the goblet went missing— family heirloom and all.”

 

“So, you got lucky.”

 

“Extremely.”

 

Robb glared at Tyrion for a moment longer, his own anger starting to simmer below the surface. He glanced down at the picture in his hand, the bile in his stomach starting to churn. Daenerys’ beautiful face stared sightlessly back at him, her famous eyes gouged out in the picture, red ink pouring from her ears, lips, and eyeholes like drops of blood. The handwriting was elegant, a perfect match to the scrawl on the card on the wine, he noted. Whoever this was wanted it known that he or she was unafraid of being found, so confident that their plan was foolproof.

 

_ Miss Targaryen—  _

 

_ For every sin you saw and said nothing. For every hurt you heard and did nothing. For every lie from your pretty mouth that condemned another innocent to a fate worse than death. _

 

_ For every cry from your lips when I find you, for every slash of your porcelain skin as I flay you, for every drop of blood as your life fades away, for every moment of horror for all of the unspeakable depravities I will take from you— _

 

_ Do you know what awaits you? _

 

_ Nothing. _

 

Robb swallowed tightly, his stomach now a churning wreck. “Tyrion—“

 

“You see why we need you. Why  _ she _ needs you.”

 

Robb nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from the crumpled picture in his hands. “Any idea of what it means? What is she into? This is very specific hate. What lies has she been involved in?”

 

“Nothing. None. I don’t know what it’s referring to.”

 

“Tyrion, don’t lie to me!” His voice rose with his dread, the image of he and Jon being tangled up in betrayals and deceit making his skin crawl. “Our lives are now in this, so please tell me that Jon and I are not making a mistake and that she is not wrapped up in something too big for us.”

 

“She’s  _ not.  _ This message for her makes  _ no  _ sense. I cannot even fathom what they are talking about. Someone has put her in their sights and it’s not right. She’s a good person, Robb, she doesn’t deserve this and we are depending on you two to help us keep her alive until it is straightened out.” Tyrio n sat back in his chair with a deep breath. 

 

“You haven’t shown her this?” Robb forced himself to relax, tossing the picture back across the desk, unable to touch it for another moment. 

 

“Would you show your wife or sisters?” Tyrion glanced down at the ugly image before scooping it back up. “If I need to tell her about it, I will, but I’d prefer her not to read it.”

 

“I want to show it to Jon.” Robb hated the thought of it, one more dark secret for his worn brother to hold onto. “He needs to understand what he’s up against.”

 

“Speaking of—“ Tyrion looked around, brow furrowed. “—where is your brother?”

 

Watching as Tyrion locked the foul threat away once more, Robb couldn’t stop the dark smirk. “Testing to see how easy it is to break in.”

 

Tyrion’s sigh was long suffering. “How’s it going so far?”

 

Relaxing again, Robb checked his watch, not sure if he should be amused or horrified at the situation. “Since no one checked me in, or has come in here to alert us to a strange man lurking around the grounds, I’d say it’s going terribly.”

 

“The gods help us all.” Tyrion muttered, before tilting his head, his gaze searching Robb’s tellingly. “On a slightly better note, I was happy to hear that Jon survived his ordeal at the Night’s Watch, even more pleasantly surprised for you to tell me that he was assisting.” He paused a beat. “I’ve always liked Jon.”

 

Robb bit back the surge of emotion at Tyrion’s sincerity, temporarily out of cheeky remarks. “Aye, I’m glad he’s here.”

 

“Well, you two will have your work cut out for you.”

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


It would almost be amusing how easy it was to walk into the Dragonpit, except it was fucking terrifying. He just opened the door and walked in. No lock, no alarm set, the keypad for the alarm system mounted mockingly by the door in silent sentry and utterly useless.

 

Frustration was building as he continued his prowl, disappointment running through him in waves, anger simmering below that. It would be an impossible task to help Daenerys and her brother if they weren’t even trying to help themselves. As much as breaking onto the property had been a thrill, it was not a game— lives were at stake, now he and Robb adding theirs to that list.

 

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he went in search of Tyrion’s office, knowing Robb was already in there. Finding himself facing a long corridor, he chose a direction.

 

Pictures lined the hallway, various covers of magazines that Jon had already seen. Photos of the siblings together were mixed in the bunch, making Jon feel like he was intruding as he stopped and stared at a younger Daenerys, hair whipping around her as she stood on the coastline, her eyes the same color as the ocean behind her.

 

Ignoring the tug of his insides, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and continued his journey, perking up with the quick steady steps of a woman on a mission, her dark eyes sweeping over him and narrowing as they stopped in front of each other. 

 

“Are you part of the set up crew? Everyone should be outside.”

 

_ Finally, someone asking questions. _

 

“No.” Jon shook his head and waited for more suspicion, for probing questions or alarm to set across the woman’s pretty face. He barely resisted grinding his teeth together when she stayed silent, a slight awkwardness filling the air. “Where’s Tyrion’s office?”

 

“You’re heading the wrong way.” She pointed over his shoulder. “At the end of the hall, turn right. Third door on the left.”

 

_ Ask me who I am. _

 

“Thank you.” He wanted to throw his hands up in air, or shake the poor woman in front of him. He liked a challenge, but this was proving more and more to be a thankless endeavour, the risks growing even more substantial. Pulling out his phone to text Robb a quick, — _ I’m heading towards you—,  _ he started to turn around, then stopped, a flair of curiosity making him pause. “Where is Daenerys?”

 

There was a short laugh. “Where she always is on the day of a shoot. Hiding in her study.” She tilted her head in the original direction Jon had been heading. “If you see her, tell her Irri is almost ready for her.”

 

The lack of safety was alarming. “Thanks.”

 

With a smile, the woman continued on her way and Jon took the moment to update his brother. — _ Never mind, I’m going to go introduce myself to Daenerys—,  _ snorting in amusement at Robb’s quick reply of, — _ you’re a pain in the arse— _ and pocketed his phone to search for the famous Daenerys Targaryen.

 

He found her a short distance away, at the end of the hall, a light perfume hitting him at the door, not at all overwhelming, just a notice that the room belonged to a woman, and stopped in the doorway to lean against the jamb, taking a moment to look at her.

 

Unprofessional, but he couldn’t help but notice,  _ again _ , that she was gorgeous, silver and starry against the vivid colors of the room, against the bright red of the robe she was wrapped in, feet tucked up under her as she scribbled on the pad in front of her, big sweeping motions, brow creased in concentration.

 

Shifting his weight he knocked on the wall and flashed her a smile as she looked up. “Daenerys Targaryen, I presume.”

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


The blank sheets of her sketchbook lay before her, the dress hidden within its pages haunting her, just out of reach of her vision. Dany sighed and pushed a wayward tendril of hair out of her eyes, her fingers rubbing her forehead against the strain of the oncoming tension headache. She was due any minute in hair and makeup for yet another vapid spread of flimsy clothes (Targaryen label notwithstanding), hidden beneath an even flimsier premise of a concept: “Persephone Returns: Spring’s Glory Realized”.

 

Dany fought the urge to roll her eyes again, as she had when Missandei had brought the magazine’s request to their attention. Exclusive use of the Dragonpit’s public viewing areas and gardens for the shoot, House Targaryen’s iconic pieces from the  _ original _ collection— nothing new, or innovative, or pushing the boundaries of fashion forward in any way— and of course, her face spread wide across the cover and spread.

 

Just more of the same.

 

Viserys had said yes to the shoot before she even had a chance to ask a single question, capitulating to the whims of the magazine without even a hint at negotiation, strenuous or otherwise. No opportunity to introduce their new line of sustainable fashion, no chance at pushing the envelope or breaking the wheel. Instead, he had even suggested that  _ Grēza _ choose which pieces they considered the most appropriate, given that the designer and creator would most definitely not be present.

 

Dany shut her eyes against the sudden pang in her chest. Five years since his passing and still— the grief could always catch her by surprise, the ache of it a physical pain in her chest strong enough to steal her breath and rob her of what was left of her dignity. Steeling herself, she blew a firm breath out of her nose, knowing that if she were to show up in Irri’s makeup chair red-lidded and swollen from yet another “crying jag” she would never hear the end of it.

 

Instead, she turned her attention back to the blank page, teasing out the edges of the dress she saw so clearly in her mind, trying to look beyond what she could see, to what she could not, to what she could feel only in her heart. Her pencil flew across the page with alarming speed as she tried to lose herself completely, giving herself over to the swirl of colors and rustle of fabrics in her mind.

 

She and Viserys may be the last, but she would be damned if all she offered to House Targaryen was a face. Rheagar had single-handedly turned their family’s misfortune around, and she would never allow his legacy to falter. Viserys did seem to have a mind for the business side (when he was sober), and someday he would learn to trust her instincts and designs for the creative side. However, Vis seemed to only be content whoring out her face and body to the highest bidder, but Dany… Dany would never be content to only contribute on camera. The world of fashion was complex, difficult, dangerous, and catty, but it also held moments of startling beauty, inspiration, and power. And so she would work as tirelessly as her eldest brother had to restore the glory of their house.

 

Or, apparently, die trying.

 

She heard him long before she could see him. Something about his shuffling gait gave him away— the scrape of a shoe against the poorly waxed flooring, the creak of his leather jacket as his arm brushed against the wood of the door jamb, his uneven breathing as adrenaline got the better of him. The panic was immediate, cold fingers of dread reaching through her chest and squeezing mercilessly as Dany fought to keep her own breathing steady, even as her heart pounded in her chest. She continued sketching calmly, falling back on years of on-camera training and experience to keep her face relaxed, giving nothing away, her mind racing as she took stock of her surroundings.

 

The study she had sequestered herself away from the frenzy of the  _ Grēza _ shoot was simple enough, the mahogany paneling giving the room a close, comfortable feel. She hadn’t bothered to redecorate it after Rheagar passed. The man stood in the only doorway in or out of the room, and Dany knew without needing to look that any attempt at escaping through a window would be immediately thwarted by the iron bars that decorated most of the windows on the ground floor. One of the “improvements” Rheagar had insisted upon as he had spiraled further and further out of lucidity and control, his paranoia commanding every thought and action.

 

So, her only way out was through him…  To her left, the cavernous fireplace sat dark and empty as it usually did, given the unnaturally warm weather that plagued King’s Landing no matter the season, the iron tools just out of lunging reach should she need to try to fight her way past him in order to escape. She took a moment to stretch her back, her eyes fixed on her sketch, even as she surreptitiously searched for something, anything that she could use in her defense. Her fingers tightened around her drawing pencils, hoping that she would not have to try to prove the old “quill is mightier than the sword” adage true.

 

Through the fringes of her lowered eyelashes she could almost make him out— a shifting shadow watching her sketch, his dark hair pulled back tightly to reveal the stern lines of his face, his jawline strong enough to make many of the male models she worked with weep with envy. His feline grace was obvious even from a distance as she kept sketching, shifting her legs out from under her as naturally as she could, hoping that it wouldn’t come down to a foot race to save her life as he looked light and lean and quick.

 

Her desk was only a few paces away from where she sat curled on the charcoal sofa, and— 

 

She froze. Her desk. And in the bottom drawer, Rheagar’s last gift.

 

Dany shifted ever so slightly, angling her body toward the desk, plotting just how many steps it would take, trying to remember which exact drawer she had stashed it in after the will had been read and Rheagar’s last wishes observed. To be honest, she couldn’t remember much about the encounter. The lawyer had insisted upon speaking to her and Viserys as soon as the funeral had concluded, about the state of the business and Rheagar’s debts, deeds and shell corporations, and who had power of attorney and any other number of things that had overwhelmed her at the time. She had retreated here, to his study, burying her face in the pillows of the couch she now sat upon, the smell of his stale cigarettes lingering in the air.

 

She had cried herself into a fitful sleep, the first of many nights spent on this sofa instead of in the echoing vastness of her own bedroom. She had found the note in his desk drawer, the small box tucked just beneath it. It had been barely legible, his hands obviously shaking as he wrote it, and hers trembled to match as she had lifted the lid of the simple cardboard box, brushing aside the paper inside.

 

The note had been straightforward—  _ For my Dany. Be safe. Always. — R _

 

The gift had not— a small, sleek gun, a perfect fit for her tiny palms and fingers. Later research identified it is a Smith & Wesson .380– affectionately known as ‘the Bodyguard’ among gun enthusiasts. She had nearly dropped the box, her shock so complete at her brother’s last gift. Her darling brother who believed in love, not war, bringing a symbol of wanton destruction into her already obliterated life. How prescient must he have been, at the end.

 

Another sly look to her visitor in the doorway. He still hadn’t moved, taking her and the room in, no doubt sizing up the best way to off her in a mansion swarming with all manner of witnesses. She had to give him some credit— the bastard had balls.

 

He had just underestimated one thing— her.

 

Making a face at her ruined sketch, she rolled her shoulders, allowing the sleeve of her robe to fall away, exposing the pale expanse of her neck and shoulder. She was taking a chance that he was a straight, hot-blooded male, but hiding behind her famed beauty had the potential to work to her advantage. Two could definitely play at whatever sick game he was playing.

 

“Daenerys Targaryen, I presume?” His deep burr washed over her, and Dany had to suppress an immediate shudder, shocked at the gentleness in his tone, completely unexpected given the circumstances.

 

Schooling her features into polite confusion, she looked up, his deep brown eyes warm and… arresting.  _ Dammit, focus Dany.  _ “Yes?”

 

He flashed her a smile, and Dany had to quell a smile of her own in return, shocked at the transformation of his face. Gone were the stern lines and creases of concern, and gods— that smile lit up every corner of his face, the twinkle in his eye inviting her into some shared conspiracy, healthy or otherwise. 

 

She surged to her feet, gathering her pencils and sketch pad close to her chest, pressing it reassuringly against the sudden pounding of her heart, hoping against hope that he couldn’t see the uptick of her pulse at her throat, or how tightly she was swallowing against the looming panic. 

 

“Is Irri ready for me in hair and makeup?” She said, desperately trying to keep her voice steady. She threw him a dazzling smile of her own, hoping to tilt him off balance, or at least keep him distracted and chatty as she moved to her desk, opening various drawers to put away her pencils and sketch pad, all the while searching for the box.

 

“Almost.” He said quietly, leaning against the door frame fully, his leather jacket squeaking slightly as he folded his arms over his broad chest. So much for chatty...

 

Dany hummed in agreement, keeping most of her focus on her search, but eyeing him through the fringe of her eyelashes. “And you are?”

 

He cleared his throat abruptly as she jerked open the left most bottom drawer, and yes, finally— the box. “You can call me Jon.”

 

“And who do you work for, Jon?” She glanced back up at him, making sure he hadn’t moved as she reached for the box, pulling it out onto the desk as smoothly and confidently as she could, her hands surprisingly steady as her adrenaline surged. She flipped open the lid, sliding her fingers along the cool metal. “You seem to have lost your security badge for the shoot.”

 

She snapped the gun up, squaring him in her sights as best she could, fighting to hold it steady, as if she knew what she was doing, keeping his eye, letting him see that she would not go down without a fight.

 

“Are you sure you know how to use that?” His voice was unnervingly steady for a man with a gun pointed at him.

 

“Are you willing to find out?” She issued her challenge with her chin up, not letting the muzzle waiver with hidden nerves.

 

“Your safety is on.” He was still the picture of relaxation, not moving from his spot in the door as if he was a man asking a simple question and not a threat in her own home. 

 

It was his easy tone that made her doubt herself, glance flickering down to where her finger rested against the trigger. And that’s all it took before he was across the room, a flurry of quick movement and their arms were tangled together, a strong grip holding onto the back of her elbow as she let out of noise of surprise.

 

She went to pull back, to scramble away, flight her full response now, but her wrist was locked between his arm and side, gun uselessly behind him as she was jerked into a hard body then propelled backwards, not stopping until she hit the bookshelf behind her, trapped between the two unforgiving surfaces.

 

“You should never point a gun at someone unless you’re ready to shoot them.” He made a noise of disapproval. “Otherwise you risk having it taken off of you.”

 

There was another fast movement and pressure applied to her wrist, making her surrender her gun or have her wrist broken, all while still pinned to the bookshelf, a figurine from the shelf behind her digging into the meat of her shoulder, completely at his mercy. She was trying not to shake, not understanding why he was talking to her, the fear of what he wanted mixing with the fury that somebody  _ dared  _ come into her home.

 

They were stuck in a silent standoff, close enough she could see the sweep of long lashes over the attractive eyes, close enough to feel the rise and fall of his muscular chest bumping into hers, skin tingling, unaware of what to feel with the close proximity. She made herself hold his gaze, chin lifted. If she was going to die, she would do so on her feet and without giving into the fear that was coiling around her spine.

 

Suddenly he leaned back, still too close, the breath she didn’t realize she was holding rushing back into her lungs, muscles tightened in defense. Instead of raising the gun at her, or something even more depraved, he ejected the magazine, checked the chamber and shook his head, faced marred with a scowl.

 

“You didn’t even have one chambered. You weren’t ready to shoot. Have you ever used a gun?”

 

A surge of anger made her straighten even more, fingers curling into fists, pushing back into his space, a foolish move, but the riling of her blood making her lose all sense of caution and prepare for a fight.

 

A knock against the doorframe brought her up short, both of them slowly turning to the new interruption.

 

“Oh good. You’ve met.” Tyrion stood there with a young man, lean and auburn haired, another face that would make women swoon.

 

_ Met? What was going on? _

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


Robb wasn’t sure what he was prepared for, but it was not finding Jon and Daenerys standing toe to toe, both wearing scowls as she pulled the silk robe up over her shoulder, covering the pale skin that had been displayed. He had to bite back a surprised cough as Jon’s eyes flickered down for the briefest of moments before landing back on her face.

 

_ What the fuck, Jon? You’ve been here less than five minutes. Don’t piss off the clients. And probably don’t eyeball the hot one either. _

 

“Who are you?” Daenerys’ heated gaze was still locked on Jon. “Tyrion, explain.”

 

Robb had to give her points for not backing down or wilting against Jon’s steely gaze. He knew his brother could be intimidating despite his lack of height but she seemed to be holding up well against it. 

 

“Daenerys, this is Robb Stark. The man you are currently having a standoff with is Jon Snow, your new bodyguard.  _ Stark Securities _ has been discretely hired by House Targaryen.”

 

“I was not consulted about this.” She practically spat out the words, her startling blue eyes flashing.

 

Robb wondered at what point she and Jon were going to step apart, the tension already twisting around them, making him and Tyrion look at each other with raised eyebrows. This…. was unexpected.

 

“I made the decision, sweet sister.”

 

The pompous voice seemed to echo about the room, finally prompting Jon and Daenerys to step back and give each other space to breathe. Robb blinked as Jon surreptitiously pulled a small handgun from the waistband of his jeans and turned to drop it into the desk drawer and push it shut. Curious— he’d have to quiz his brother on that later. Instead, he turned to the tall willowy man with silver hair that matched his sister’s.

 

“Robb Stark, at your service.” Viserys took his hand, the palm damp, eyes dull and listless. Robb barely kept the distaste from his face even though he knew about Viserys’ issues of (supposedly past) substance abuse. Robb may have his doubts, but he wasn’t getting paid to judge— just keep the siblings alive. Doing his best to keep his scorn down, he watched silently as the  other man swept across the room, his ego filling the room as if he owned every inch of the space.

 

Daenerys stiffened subtly as her brother marched toward her, rifling disdainfully through the books and figurines on her shelf. Jon narrowed his eyes with displeasure, no doubt reacting to her discomfort. “Vis, we should have talked about this.” 

 

“No, we shouldn’t have.” He closed in on his sister, swiftly grabbing her wrist and yanking her toward him. Her face twisted in a flash of pain as Viserys towered over her. “Never forget, you don’t run things here, Dany, and I don’t need to ask your permission.”

 

At Viserys’ sudden move, Robb shifted, the clenching of his fists imperceptible as years of training threatened to take over in a heartbeat. Jon swung around and squared up, already visibly coming to Daenerys’ defense at her brother’s roughness. Robb groaned internally.  _ Fuck, this is a huge mess. _

 

“Let’s take a deep breath and relax, everyone.” The tension thrumming through the room broke as Tyrion stepped in, hands raised in gesture of peace as Daenerys shook herself free and stepped sideways, rubbing her wrist, Jon’s presence looming protectively over her. Tyrion did not look the least bit surprised at the exchange. Apparently, this was not his first time being a referee.

 

Robb took the advice, flexing his fingers, giving a slight shake of his head towards Jon, who still looked ready to take a chunk out of Viserys. Finally, his tense posture dropped, and Robb took a deep breath of relief. The last thing he needed was to have to protect his client from his own brother.

 

“I don’t need to relax.” Viserys sounded like a petulant child. “I want to stay alive, and  _ Stark Securities  _ comes highly recommended. Tyrion vouched for them.” He turned to his sister. “Do you want to end up dead like our brother?”

 

She visibly flinched, the pain echoing across her face. “That is completely different.”

 

“Dead is dead.”

 

“You’re not helping.” Tyrion turned to Viserys, a small crack in his normal humorous tone. “Why don’t you go check on how the set up for the shoot is going and I’ll speak to Daenerys.”

 

“ _ Daenerys  _ is right here.” Fury had settled over, eyes flashing, chin lifting as her shoulders straightened. “Do not talk about me as if I’m not standing in this room.”

 

“For fuck’s sake—“ Jon’s quiet utterance drew his attention, but thankfully not that of either Targaryen sibling. Jon was staring at him, shaking his head slowly, his own thoughts clearly written across his face for anyone to read.  _ What the fuck have you gotten us into? _

 

“Enough!” Robb almost flinched at Tyrion’s thunderous tone, the small man all together done with the hijinks and arguing back and forth. “Viserys, I’ll see you in my office in thirty minutes.” There was a tense moment as Viserys puffed up, his sallow eyes searching the room for an ally. Finding none, he wilted slightly and shrugged, sweeping from the room with a toss of his lank silver hair. Tyrion waited until Viserys disappeared through the door, then turned back to Daenerys. “He’s not wrong on this.”

 

“Your current security is terrible.” Jon crossed his arms, leaning back against her desk, earning him a scowl as she bristled like a porcupine.

 

“What my ineloquent brother is trying to say—“ Robb paused, searching for a more tactful way of relaying the truth before giving up. “No, he said it, it’s terrible.”

 

Her eyes snapped to his for the first time since he had been introduced, and Robb swallowed, the scorch of it chillingly thorough. It was rather intense to become the object of Daenerys Targaryen’s wrath, and he silently gave his brother kudos for withstanding it.

 

“I jumped your fence, walked across your miles of a lawn, ran into multiple people, let myself into your house and was  _ given directions on how to find you in here _ .” Jon shifted back up and closer to her, the challenge firm in his tone. “Not that anyone on your security team would know— none of your perimeter cameras are operational.”

 

She paled slightly, but tilted her chin defiantly. “That is not normal.” Her hands went to her hips, turning to meet Jon head on.

 

“Actually, Daenerys—“ Tyrion shifted uncomfortably on his feet, “we thought it best that we didn’t tell you this before—“ he cleared his throat before continuing. “The poisoned bottle of wine was not sent to you, it was left for you.”

 

Her eyes went wide as she pieced it together. “Someone was here, in the manse?”

 

“Yes. They left you a note.”

 

She sagged, but Jon was at the ready, reaching out and gently leaning her against the desk. “A note? They  _ left  _ me a note?” Tyrion was looking at the floor, dutifully avoiding her gaze. At his avoidance, the steel crept back into her tone. “Where, Tyrion?”

 

“The note was left in your bed. The wine was on your nightstand.”

 

“Why wasn’t I made aware of this earlier?”

 

There was a dry clicking sound as Tyrion’s throat worked, but no sound came out. “Daenerys—“ He raised his arms helplessly, wilting under her withering glare.

 

“Do you still have the note?”

 

“No, it was given to the City Watch for analysis.”

 

She nodded thoughtfully. “What did it say?”

 

“There’s no need to go into all that—“

 

“You said it was a crazed fan.” Silence met her, all eyes now actively avoiding her pointed gaze.”What did it say, Tyrion? Do they know?” She tossed her silver head in Jon and Robb’s direction, and both shifted uncomfortably.

 

Tyrion looked helplessly between them both, his eyes wide. “Just of its existence.” Jon’s voice cut across him, quiet but firm. “From what we understand, the content was quite…” He trailed off, looking over to Robb for assistance. 

 

Robb nodded slowly, taking a delicate step closer to his brother and his charge. He didn’t want to give her the details, to frighten her more than she already was, but she at least deserved to know what, exactly, she was facing. “It was graphic, Daenerys. Perverse. You really don’t want to— All you need to know is that this threat is real, and someone out there wants worse than death for you.”

 

She made a small noise, arms wrapping around herself as the reality of the situation rolled over her. Robb fought down the urge to cross to her to pull her into a hug, the thought of Sansa or Arya in the same situation disheartening. Jon looked ready to hit somebody.

 

Suddenly she straightened, pulling herself back together, finding some inexhaustible source of inner fire and narrowed her eyes dangerously at Tyrion. “We will be having an in-depth conversation about this, Jorah included.” She shifted her hot gaze to Jon. “Apparently, I do find myself in need of your services.”

 

“Aye.” Jon moved back around to her desk, helping himself to opening up her desk drawer, a move Robb would normally find humorous if not for the circumstances. “Also, if you’re going to pack this around, then you are going to learn how to use it correctly. And you will not point it at someone again unless you’re willin’ to kill them. And if you’re not, then you leave it right here.”

 

_ Well, fuck.  _ That’s what he and Tyrion had missed.

 

She huffed, thoroughly chastised but didn’t protest, taking the gun off of Jon and pulling a simple cardboard box to her and settling the small handgun back in as if it were breakable. Then her fingers faltered, the box dropping to her desk with a thump.

 

Robb moved towards her, triggered by the look of horror on her face, Jon already pulling her back away from the unknown threat, tucking her neatly behind him, holding her there with one hand as she tried to peek around him, all the blood drained from her already pale face. Robb approached the desk, moving to block her view as he peered into the drawer.

 

In it, presumably hidden under the case that held her gun, was a note, a lone bullet taped down, the ominous words — _ I have one of these saved for you— _ written in an elegant scrawl.

 

“Did you know about this?” He looked at Tyrion before glancing over to Daenerys, the latter leaning into Jon with her shock.

 

“No.” Tyrion looked defeated. “I didn’t. Daenerys, I’m sorry.”

 

“We will get it to the City Watch, have them look for evidence.” Jon spoke without looking over his shoulder to the woman pressed to his back.

 

“They are useless.” She scoffed, before letting her shoulders drop. “But I suppose we don’t have many other options.”

 

Robb pulled out his phone and snapped a couple of pictures to be on the safe side, her depiction of the City Watch absolutely correct. “We don’t.”

 

“Okay.” Gathering herself once more, Daenerys finally leaned away as Jon dropped his hand, and shook her own hands briskly before straightening her robe. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m afraid I need a few minutes before I head down to hair and makeup.”

 

“What?” Jon turned to face her. “No.”

 

They were like magnets, Robb observed. He found it fascinating to watch Daenerys close back in on Jon, the pull of something greater than either of them drawing them together or repelling them apart, the charged friction starting again between them.

 

“This is my  _ job _ . You don’t get to tell me ‘no’. Ever. Are we clear?”

 

“I will if I need to. That’s  _ my _ job.”

 

“If I may interrupt.” Tyrion stepped closer to the pair. “Jon, we need her to do this. If she doesn’t do the shoot, she’s in breach of contract, and then we all have much bigger problems on our hands. I’ll send Grey Worm out to you for assistance. Daenerys, moving forward, your schedule is going to need to be cleared by Jon. He cannot do his job otherwise. I’ll be sure to let Missandei know, and I’m sure she can smooth out any ruffled feathers.”

 

Huffing, she stepped away, arms crossed obstinately, and Robb could have sworn he saw her face twitch to stifle a violent eye roll. “Fine, he can come with me.”

 

“Robb, will you leave my stuff when you are done with Tyrion? Apparently I’m about to watch a photo shoot.” He rolled his eyes as Daenerys marched out the door, then tipped his head. “Tyrion, I don’t know how you’ve lasted working for them.” He followed in the waft of the lavender perfume Daenerys left in her wake.

 

“Well, that went better than planned.” Tyrion’s dry tone almost drew a chuckle from him. “Now, I suppose we should head down to my office and contact the Watch. Then you can go over Viserys’ schedule.

 

“Aye.” Robb could hear the fading clipped tones of Jon and Daenerys disappearing down the hall. He had noted the slight haunted look that Jon carried had gone away for the time being, no doubt too occupied to let memories take over.

 

Working for the Targaryen’s looked like it would be challenging, and if he knew one thing about Jon, it was that he could not walk away from a challenge. Daenerys Targaryen was as beautiful as she was stubborn and determined, a combination that would crawl under Jon’s skin and hopefully distract him from his demons and pull him back into the land of the living.

 

If Daenerys didn’t strangle him first.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  



	3. I know that when you look at me, there's so much that you just don't see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missandei’s voice seemed far away as Jon pulled the sunglasses from his face to study her, his displeasure written wide across his face. A thrill raced down her spine as she cocked an eyebrow at him, her own smile growing as she continued to walk toward the manse, the rest falling into step with them. “— and we’re expected at Blackwater Grille at seven o’clock. I’ve already advised the board that you’ll have one more guest than previously expected—“
> 
> “Three.” Jon’s voice echoed across the lawn, a subtle smile of his own creeping across his face, making Dany feel as if she were somehow caught in a trap of her own making. “If you insist on going to a dinner in yet another unsecured location, then Jorah and Grey are coming with us.”
> 
> Wary of whatever he was planning, Dany fought to keep the relaxed smile fixed on her face. “Of course. Missandei, please make the arrangements. Will Mr. Stark also be joining us?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a HUGE amount of thanks to JW for her beautiful moodboard! She literally creates magic out of nothing and we adore her. (Also, it was her birthday yesterday, so show her a bit of love, won’t you?) ❤️ 
> 
> And, of course, our main cheerleader/oh so patient beta, Alice, who not only sat down and looked over this behemoth of a chapter in one sitting, but did it all while taking care of a sick hubs. She’s a warrior and we love her. ❤️ 
> 
> And thanks to all of you for your patience as we worked to get this chapter out! It rings in at 12K+ words, so we really hope that you enjoy!! Happy Friday!

 

~*~*~

 

_ Someone out there wants worse than death for you… _

 

The taller man’s words rang through her, bouncing and echoing through her mind. What had he said his name was? Richard, Bob? Something Stark— normally she was much better with names. Missandei was always impressed with how she could rattle off the names of most of the crew by the end of a photoshoot, her memory something she had spent years cultivating in order to be more, to be different from the rest of the—

 

_ Worse than death… _

 

Dany could feel the tendrils of panic crawling through her, weaving together with the embarrassment, the suspicion, the pain—

 

The pain. Her hand went to her wrist, rubbing the ache from it as best she could, trying to keep her focus on the sensations of it, the throbbing stabs with every beat of her heart drawing her away from the edge, keeping her grounded and present. Glancing down, she pulled the sleeve of her silk robe back to check for bruises. It wouldn’t be the first time that Irri would need to concoct some new foundation to cover the abuses she suffered at her brother’s hand. He must have been rattled to have manhandled her so in front of that many people.

 

A large hand closed gently around her injured appendage, dropping away as she hissed and snapped her glare up to him.  _ Jon Snow.  _ She clutched her throbbing wrist close to her chest, turning to keep her back to the paneled wood of the the hall, ready to snap and snarl at him, but brought up short by the concern in his liquid brown eyes.

 

“Did I hurt you?” She shivered as he took a step closer to her, crowding into her space— something she would just have to get used to, no doubt.

 

She shook her head, gritting her teeth against the ache. “No.”

 

He waited for her to say more, his head cocked to the side as he studied her, the scrutiny unnerving in the dim light of the hall. Ignoring the spike of agony, she rolled her wrist to show him just how fine she was. In fact, she had almost managed to block out the embarrassment of her failure and forget that Jon had disarmed her first. The pressure of his grip on her hand to get her to release her hold on the handgun hadn’t felt wonderful, per say, but his touch had been practically gentle compared to that of Viserys. 

 

But, he was her brother, nonetheless. Targaryens didn’t answer to anyone. 

 

Jon didn’t believe her— she could see it in his eyes, the flash of protectiveness and  _ anger _ replacing the concern in the space of a heartbeat. She took another step back from him, momentarily stunned to find herself pleased that he was on her side. His anger had a dangerous edge to it, something that a more self-assured version of herself might enjoy teasing out of him, but for now she was so off-kilter that all she could do was cower from it within the walls of her own mind.

 

“Nothing a little willowbark won’t fix.” She could hear the high pitched tone in her own voice, although thankfully it was no longer quavering. Taking a step back, she kept her uninjured hand on the wainscotting, the wood digging into her palm. “In fact, I should really go find some before I go into hair and makeup. That way I’ll be right as rain by the time we’re ready to begin the shoot.”

 

_ Right as rain???  _ She was babbling, edging away from him, a wave of fear crashing over her, burying her, filling her eyes, ears, and mouth until she couldn’t breathe. She turned from him blindly, finding her way to the grand staircase in the foyer by rote, the sound of his footsteps doggedly following her. Her breaths were becoming more and more labored as she climbed the stairs, crossing through the upstairs landing and Viserys’ wing, another staircase at the end of the hallway leading to her rooms.

 

Still he followed her, his presence looming large in the back of her mind. “Ms. Targaryen?”

 

Pragmatically, she knew that he meant her no harm, that Jon had even stepped between her and Viserys, had bodily  _ thrown _ himself between her and what he had perceived as a threat when she found the second note, but the sound of his steady footsteps might actually drive her over the brink. There was no escape from him, no escape from the reality which he represented-- the very real danger that had brought him to her door.

 

She arrived at her bedroom, reaching out for the gilded doorknob before pulling away as if burned. Someone had been in her room. The note had been found in her  _ bed _ .

 

“Daenerys—“ Jon finally snapped, pulling her back from her bedroom door and turning her to face him, his eyes flying over her before cataloging their surroundings, looking for danger. She could practically hear his teeth grinding they were so close. “What is it?

 

_ I have one of these saved for you… _

 

She gasped and shook herself loose from his grip. Swallowing down her sudden nausea, she lifted her head. “I need a few moments—  _ private _ moments.” She could hear the woodenness in her tone, and knew that she had just a few seconds left before she crumbled to pieces.

 

His gaze softened and he took a step back. “Is this your room?”

 

She nodded quickly, feeling the prick of tears gathering in the back of her eyes, much to her mortification. He nodded, suddenly all business as he tucked her behind him once more. “Wait here.”

 

He threw open the door of her bedroom and stepped inside. She slumped against the wall opposite her door, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, trying to remember what the therapist had told her to do when she felt the panic attacks coming on. She had just reached the number 37 when his hands reappeared in her line of vision, reaching down to help her up off the floor. She had no idea when she had slid down the wall, her forehead braced against her knees as she struggled to keep pulling air into her lungs.

 

“All clear,” he said, his heated gaze raking down her once more. “I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”

 

She didn’t reply, forcing her feet one in front of the other as she crossed the threshold of her room, the greens and golds of her decor now seeming foreboding instead of comforting. She shut the door behind her, not caring if it slammed a bit harder than she intended, and crossed directly to her  _ en-suite _ bathroom, closing that door firmly behind her and throwing the lock.

 

The white marble and silver fixtures swam before her eyes as she fumbled for one of the crystal water glasses she kept next to her toothbrush. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably now that she was alone, and as she twisted the cold water handle, the sink gushed to life, splashing water out of the glass and all over the countertop. Dany cursed as she set the glass down with a thunk, turning to yank a hand towel off the bar behind her to sop up some of the mess. Once that was done, she threw the towel into the claw footed bathtub, and started opening drawers looking for the willowbark pills she kept close at hand. Finally finding one of the packets, she tore it open with her teeth, tilting both pills into her mouth and gulping what little water had managed to stay in the glass.

 

Dany set the glass down carefully before finally taking a close look at herself in the mirror. She was beyond pale, a grey pallor settling into her skin, the only color that of her eyes, and two bright pink spots high on her cheeks.

 

It was too much, all of it— everything. She found that her mind could not settle, jumping from one awful detail to the next. Someone was trying to kill her— had almost been successful. If the maid hadn’t discovered the note and the wine, would she even be here right now? Would she have assumed that someone from the staff had placed it in her room for a nightcap? She shuddered at the thought, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that she most likely would be dead if she had discovered it on her own. She needed to ask Tyrion which maid had found it and make sure that person got a significant raise. 

 

Someone had been in her room, in her bed, had violated all of the spaces that she considered her own, including Rhaegar's study. They had left multiple notes.

 

_ Possibly more... _

 

She felt her knees give out, and with a groan eased herself as best she could to lie flat on the floor, her reddened cheek pressed against the cool tile, the nausea that had been lingering abating ever so slightly at the contact.

 

They needed to search the entire manse thoroughly. If it had taken them days to find the note with her handgun, there was no telling how many more might be out there, waiting to taunt her, to frighten her, to cow her into submission.

 

_ Graphic… Perverse… _

 

That’s what the auburn haired man had said. Her stomach churned at the thought and she closed her eyes against the rising tide of her panic, trying to take even, shallow breaths. Tyrion had looked as if she had stabbed him through the heart, whatever the fuck his name was had coddled her as if she were a frightened child, and Jon… Jon had looked surprised when his boss had offered even those details. It had been subtle, only the slight raising of an eyebrow, but surprise nonetheless.

 

Her eyes snapped open. Jon hadn’t read the note. He had no idea what he was up against. For that matter, neither did she…

 

Dany forced her trembling hands under her, pushing herself upright, slumping against the wall as she burrowed her fingers into her hair, the strands coming undone from her loose braid easily. She raked her fingers through her hair from  scalp to ends, savoring the feeling, almost relaxing against her own touch. Rhaegar had done this for her when she was younger, when the anxiety became too much, when Viserys had become too much.

 

It wasn’t the same.

 

She clamped down on that line of reasoning before it sent her completely over the edge, setting her teeth and forcing herself to think.  _ Think, godsdammit. _

 

There were so many questions whirling in her mind— why hadn’t Tyrion told her the full extent of the danger, why had he and Viserys hired her a bodyguard without even so much as a ‘by the by’, why hadn’t the City Watch asked to speak with her— surely someone, somewhere in that abysmal organization, had a brain in their head and had come up with some sort of suspect?

 

She’d had stalkers before, of course. A man from Vaes Dothrak had made her time spent in Essos one nightmare after another. A self-proclaimed  _ Khal  _ of old, determined to take what he thought was his. Jorah had made short work of him, and a thorough mental examination upon his arrest had hopefully gotten him the help that he so desperately needed.

 

She still thought of him sometimes, and had hoped that he would find healing and rest. She would need to ask Tyrion to check, to make sure that he was still in Essos, and had not somehow made his way to Westeros. Love denied made for a powerful motive, after all.

 

Dany took a deep breath, feeling the slightest bit better with a plan in place. She would need to ask Missandei as well if she had received any sort of threat via email, as she screened those. Anything to end this nightmare as quickly as possible and get back to more important work. If Jon Snow would let her…

 

She groaned again, already knowing that a clash of wills lay directly in her path. In the twenty minutes since she had met the man she already found him infuriating, confounding, terrifying, and surprisingly gentle. He reminded her very much of… Well, no one, if she was being honest. He was unlike anyone she had ever met, all hard lines and graceful, fluid movements— and deadly. He had the face of a man haunted by regret and pain. It would take time to learn him, to find the triggers to bend him to her will, but find them she would. Until then, she would take great pleasure in teasing and taunting, searching for the cracks in his carefully constructed facade.

 

She held her hands out in front of her, pleasantly surprised to find that the shaking had abated, and reached for the countertop to pull herself upright. The willowbark had already begun to work its magic, and she felt only a slight twinge in her wrist, although sure enough, a string of dull bruises were already popping up. Turning the faucet on once more, she filled her water glass much more gracefully than before and drank it down, the cool, crisp water settling her stomach and steadying her. She pinched her cheeks to bring some color back, knowing even if she were to put on blush, that Irri would have to take it off and start over from scratch.

 

Taking one final deep breath and cinching her robe more tightly around her, Dany lifted her chin defiantly. She was the blood of the dragon, after all.

 

~*~*~

 

Jon’s mind was still whirling as he leaned against the wall where Daenerys had been slumped, the surprised tightness of anxiety filling him as she disappeared behind her solid door and out of his sight. It was fine, she was  _ safe _ — he knew it, had just cleared the room that smelled of soft exotic lotions, the same scent that clung to her skin...

 

But he did not know the threat, not really, had only reacted on instinct when she had recoiled. It was an itch between his shoulders, the need to understand what he was facing— the unknown would keep him at a disadvantage, handicap him when it was obvious, by Robb’s tone, that whatever content that note held was worse than the bullet left in her drawer. It was difficult to keep from gathering Daenerys under his protective wing and marching down the hall to Tyrion’s office, demanding to see the ugly words that were meant to strike terror into her heart.

 

Gritting his teeth against the anger that rose at the thought of the special brand of cowardice it took to threaten a woman, he crossed his arms to keep from fidgeting, keeping a keen ear toward where she had taken refuge. He tried to keep his whirling mind occupied by attempting to sort out everything that had just happened. It had been quite an introduction— a part of him admiring, another part horrified she had the gumption to pull a gun on him, surprised to see the fire in her eyes that hit him like a wall of flame, seeping in and clashing with the numbness, the part of him that he’d long let ice over. It intrigued him,  _ annoyed _ him, and he’d been in her presence for less than half an hour. He couldn't imagine what more time left floating in her orbit would do to him.

 

His fingers flexed involuntarily, and his slight regret at manhandling her in such a way made him swallow hard. It had been a lesson, one he thought should have been well earned, but after her brother had grabbed her so roughly... His anger spiked again at the thought, compounding his own remorse. He had a good inclination that it was not the first time Viserys had laid his hand on his sister. 

 

Jon vowed it would be the last time while he was here.

 

Shifting on his feet, he blew out a breath. It seemed like an eternity had stretched by, but he knew it had only been mere minutes since she’d disappeared through her bedroom door, the unease settling heavy on his shoulders. He needed to know the threat— he needed to sit down with her current security team, take the measure of those tasked with her protection; he needed to look at her schedule, find the patterns, the weak points, the likely moments of attack.

 

He also required a few minutes to sit down and try and to sort through the mess of emotions flooding through him, his mind rapid-firing from subject to subject, action to action. He was supposed to be a professional— calm, cool, and collected, not this unprincipled rookie trapped in a minefield of feeling.

 

His silent berating was interrupted by light and easy footsteps, feet falling in a pattern suggesting they knew where they were going. He tensed, coming off the wall and turning himself sideways in the hall, fingers itchy, blood riled, still not entirely down from the high of threat.

 

It was the woman he had met before, the one who had pointed out where to find Daenerys, all bouncing caramel curls and smiling at him as if she were not surprised to see him loitering outside Daenerys Targaryen’s door. Uncrossing his arms, he moved again, the door firmly at his back, putting on what he hoped was a pleasant smile.

 

“Is Dany in there?” She had an armful of paperwork, her phone silently vibrating on top of the stack. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Missandei.”

 

A slim hand was offered to him and he took it, giving it a polite shake, trying not to bristle at the woman. “Jon Snow.”

 

“Yes, Tyrion informed me that you’ve been hired as Dany’s bodyguard.” Eyebrows went up as she studied him. “He also mentioned something about going over her schedule. Do you know if she’s almost ready? Irri is ready for her and doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

 

Making a noncommittal noise, he took the moment to study her, his hands drifting to his sides as he tried to relax. He would try the nice way of getting his point across first. “You’re her assistant, then?” He waited for the nod of confirmation before continuing, reminding himself to use  _ tact.  _ Making an ally of Daenerys’ assistant would be in his best interest. “Yes, I will need to be kept informed of her schedule and where events take place.” 

 

The creaking of floorboards from behind the door caught his ear, his body refusing to move from his strategic placement between her and everything else. “Another thing,” gods, he could hear the warning in his tone, and hoped Missandei was not the meek and mild type. “I don’t want you telling  _ anyone _ where Daenerys is, unless it’s Robb Stark or someone else from the security team. If Tyrion or her brother ask and are informed of her whereabouts, I expect to be given a heads up. This is a very serious situation.” Footsteps moved towards him, his blood kicking up, something inside of him craving the rush it had been introduced to in the form of arguing with Daenerys. “Someone is after her and I want to keep her alive.”

 

Missandei’s golden eyes dropped as the door knob rattled, and Jon stepped to the side a split second before Dany threw open the door and crashed into his back. Giving her a grin as she huffed at him, he noted she had some color in her cheeks again, the steel back in her spine as her gaze roved over him before flicking back to her assistant.

 

“Are they ready for me?” Daenerys’ voice was fused with a warmth Jon hadn’t heard yet, a friendliness not often seen in a working relationship. Obviously she and Missandei had been paired together for some time, but he had to wonder what had transpired between them to bond them so closely.

 

“Yes, but before we head down there,” Missandei cleared her throat, throwing a nervous glance at Jon and an apologetic smile at Daenerys. “Tyrion has informed me that Mr. Snow is to be staying here and thought the bedroom next to yours should suffice.”

 

The roundness of Daenerys’ eyes gave away her surprise even before she spoke, Jon unconsciously angling his body to meet her wrath head on. “You’re staying here?”

 

“Of course I am.” Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he instead clenched his fists before consciously relaxing them again. “‘Round the clock, remember? You think I’m a pain in the arse now, just wait. It’s going to get worse.” He took a step toward her, catching her neatly between him and the doorframe. Her chin rose, allowing her to fix her hot gaze onto him, searing him to the bone. He sucked in a breath, fighting for focus.  “Get used to it, Daenerys, I’m going to be your shadow— you’ll trip over me every time you turn around. And by the time they catch this lunatic, you’ll still be alive.”

 

“I think the room next to me might be overkill.” She spoke through clenched teeth, even more color flooding her cheeks, his eyes drifting to the flush turning the visible flesh of her chest pink, intriguing and forbidden. “We have a guest house.”

 

“No.” He kept himself from reaching for her, wanting to find some modicum of that scared woman who had clung to him thirty minutes before, his frustration climbing along with her defiance. “I could never get to you in time.”

 

“Well then, is the room next door going to be close enough?” The words were a seductive purr with a hidden bite to them— she was trying to lure him into complacency. “Maybe you should just move into my room.” She shifted closer, the heat wafting from her soaking into his own skin, making him crave contact, but he stubbornly held his ground. “My bed is big enough for two.”

 

_ Godsfuckingdammit! _

 

Right in that particular moment, he wasn’t even sure if he  _ liked  _ Daenerys Targaryen, hadn’t been allowed the time to sort out all the sensations clashing inside of him, but he was unable to resist peaking over her shoulder to the four poster bed behind her, the forest green down comforter pulled tight, an array of pillows against her headboard. And he could picture it in a surge of lust, being sprawled beneath her on that big bed, fingers digging into the luscious curve of her hips, those pretty blue eyes focused only on him as she stared down at him, a curtain of silver hair hiding them both from the world.

 

Hoping his neck wasn’t beet red and advertising his torrid thoughts, he straightened his shoulders, schooling his face into the hardened mask that had made men of the Night’s Watch fall to command. “That would be a conflict of interest,-“ he hooked his thumbs through his front belt loops, straining for nonchalance. “-it’s considered bad form to sleep with a client.”

 

He counted it as a win when her mouth pressed into a firm line, eyes narrowing at him. The offer had obviously been made to rile, to push his buttons, and internally he wanted to congratulate her on the strategy, her effective tactics probably made lesser men fall to their knees around her. Too bad she would find that he was immune.

 

However, when she grabbed his hand he almost startled, falling in behind her in confusion as she tugged him into her room, pulling him across the expanse of shining hardwood flooring.

 

“Here.” 

 

She let go, his hand falling limply to his side, already missing the weight of hers, but he forgot about it as he realized he stood in front of another door, one disguised as a part of the paneling. She pushed a hidden button and it slid aside, leaving them staring into another room—  _ his  _ room apparently— his familiar bag of belongings already laying on the bed with Missandei standing beside it, an bemused expression drawn widely across her expressive face.

 

“Close enough, Jon Snow?”

 

He turned to look at Dany, giving her a sincere smile this time, ignoring the surge of warmth he felt when she hesitantly returned it. “I can work with this.”

 

“Thank the gods,” blue eyes rolled at him. “Now, can I go to work?”

 

“Aye. Let’s go.”

 

~*~*~

 

Dany swept into the sun-drenched solar where Irri had set up her station for the day, racks upon racks of bright, colorful dresses, outerwear, slacks, skirts, and blouses filling up every available space. Irri had managed to carve out a small nook for herself, muscling her makeup chair into a bright corner, the natural light streaming through the floor to ceiling windows negating the need for her usual lighting. Jon pressed in close behind her, not wanting to lose her in the maze of racks, the maddening sound of his steady footsteps finally dampened for the moment by the vast amount of fabric surrounding them.

 

Agitated, she pulled at the collar of her robe, the warmth of the solar stifling and she fought to keep the sudden smirk off of her face at the thought of Jon roasting in his completely impractical leather jacket. Vintage, by the look of it. How he had thought that piece of outerwear was necessary for the particularly warm climate that was King’s Landing, she would never know, but damn if he didn’t look—

 

_ No. Stop. He’s here to protect you, not be ogled shamelessly. _

 

She chanced a glance over her shoulder, his eyes a warm golden brown in the sunlight, so changed from the cold blackness that had seared themselves into her memory as he pressed her against the wall of her study, or even the lighter chocolate color as he had smiled down at her when she had shown him the secret entrance to the maid’s quarters off her bedroom. A bead of sweat was already gathering at his widow’s peak, the rest of his hair firmly pulled back into a no-nonsense bun. Sensible, given his line of work. He stopped behind her, wrinkling his nose at the finery threatening to swallow them from every direction.

 

“Do you have to wear all of these?” The disgust in his voice pulled a sharp laugh from her, her chest expanding with a full breath for the first time since she had seen him leaning against the door to her study.

 

Dany turned quickly from him so he couldn’t see her shock at the realization, reaching out to fondle the embroidered sleeve of a particularly beautiful piece. The fabric was rough beneath her fingers, but the stitching was impeccable as always. “No,” she murmured, lost for a moment to the past as she studied the intricate craftsmanship. “It’s customary to pull the entire collection when choosing pieces for a spread. As this shoot is to be a tribute to House Targaryen and spring, we pulled Rhaegar's first collection as Designer.” She could feel herself snag on the memory, the sight of her beloved brother’s face as he had shown her the breathtaking creations his endless imagination had wrought.

 

How his eyes had shone with pride when he showed her the piece he had designed with her in mind— the delicate,  _ haute couture _ dress, frothy pink tulle with hand stitched ruffles and a train for days. The dress that had catapulted House Targaryen back to the forefront of fashion, had cemented Rheagar as the best new designer of an age, his vision fresh, his touch light and airy, and had launched her own modeling career into the stratosphere.

 

“There you are!” Irri’s sharp voice cut across her, yanking Dany back from the edgeless void as she hastily rounded the rack. “We’re now officially running behind and the magazine is already complaining about losing the light even though we aren’t scheduled to start until—“

 

The young woman’s voice cut off abruptly, her dark eyes going wide as Jon stepped even to Dany, his hands hanging loose and prepared at his side, his posture tense and poised like a panther ready to pounce. Dany fought the urge to roll her eyes as Irri’s gaze dropped over them both, and then slowly traveled up Jon, her smile growing predatory as she appeared to like what she was seeing— enormously if the subtle straightening of her shoulders to show off her more alluring assets were any indication. 

 

Drawing herself to her full height, Dany shot a warning glare at her makeup artist before placing a hand on Jon’s forearm. “Jon Snow, may I introduce Irri Siya, she’s been one of my stylists for many years.” Irri huffed quietly, and Dany smiled in return. “One of my most  _ talented  _ stylists,” she amended before continuing. “Irri, this is Jon, my—“ she stuttered to a stop, not quite sure how Irri would react, her penchant for dramatics high.

 

Instead, Jon took the choice out of her hands, nodding formally at Irri. “I’m Daenerys’ new bodyguard,” his mouth turned down sternly. “We’ll be discussing some changes to her routine, I’m sure.” He gestured to the broad windows, “Movin’ forward, Daenerys will not be sitting for long periods of time in an unsecured area where anyone could get a bead on her at any moment.”

 

Irri’s eyes widened as they flashed between her and Jon, and Dany ignored the sudden crashing of her heartbeat to turn to glare at him. “Really?”

 

“Are we in danger?” Irri’s hands fluttered to the topaz pendant she wore around her neck, her fingers stroking over the smooth stone. “Jorah assured me that it was fine to set up in here. Since it’s an outdoor shoot I thought it would be best to do your makeup in natural light so that we know for sure what we’re dealing with, and you know that I can always make adjustments as needed on set, and—“

 

“Irri,” Dany snapped, rapidly losing patience with the entire situation. “If Jorah said it’s fine to set up in here, then I’m sure it’s just that—” she fixed Jon with a baleful stare of her own. “Fine.”

 

“All due respect, Daenerys, it’s not.” Jon reached out and tapped on the window, the entire pane of glass giving a worrying wobble. “This is not bulletproof glass, there are multiple unknown entities and personnel wandering the grounds unchecked, and we’ve already unearthed one threat to you today—“

 

“Then I suggest you take it up with Jorah.” Dany bit out, her cheeks flushing angrily. 

 

Jon folded his arms across his broad chest. “Or Jorah should be taking these matters up with Robb and I.”

 

She wheeled on him, ignoring Irri’s blanched features. “Jorah has been the head of our security detail for ten years,” she hissed. “ _All due respect,_ but I don’t appreciate your waltzing in here like you own the place after being formally employed for the better part of an hour. I have complete faith in him and his ability to do his _job_ , and if he says this solar is secure, then I believe him.” She turned, taking Irri by the hand and pulling the petite woman over to her chair before plopping herself down into it unceremoniously. “Now,” her gaze never left Jon’s, her eyebrow arched in carefully crafted defiance. “What’s the look for today?”

 

Irri licked her lips nervously, her eyes darting back and forth between them and their silent standoff. “Well, they’ve selected four pieces, Jhiqui is steaming them now, and for the beauty look they want to go with a bold lip and a sculpted brow.”

 

“Perfect.” She fanned her face, the heat suddenly stifling. “Let’s get to—“

 

“Miss Dany!” Irri’s gasp drew her up short as she grasped her hand and pulled the sleeve of her robe up, revealing the bruises around her wrist. “Not again! You said he promised—“

 

Dany swallowed, jerking her hand out of Irri’s gentle grasp, her face flushing further under both of their scrutiny. “It’s nothing, Irri. It’s—“

 

“Fine?” Jon’s voice ground out, a snort of derision following.

 

Dany raised her chin, silence dropping over them like a cloak. He didn’t understand, none of them did, truly. “It was an accident,” she finally said quietly, her voice gone hoarse. Irri said nothing for a moment, but gave her a knowing look, her slim hands reaching into her makeup belt for the foundation she always kept on hand and giving it a shake.

 

“Of course,” she said lightly. She worked quickly and quietly, and under her tender ministrations the growing bruises disappeared from sight, and her face steadily transformed into the contoured lines and bold beauty the whole of Westeros craved from her. Jon simply watched for a moment, mercifully quiet, obviously deciding it wouldn’t be worth it to bodily drag her to a more secure location, although his eyes shifted at every shadow that crossed the windows, with the sound of every footstep outside the door.

 

Finally Jhiqui broke the tense silence, pushing a rack full of clothes before her, barely visible behind the mountain of tulle, bright and perfectly pressed. Irri stood back to admire her handiwork, quickly pulling Dany’s hair back into a smart bun at the nape of her neck. “Most of the looks have hair pieces,” she explained before giving her hair a quick spritz and moving over to the rack with Jhiqui to pull the first look off of the wooden hanger.

 

Dany’s heart gave a startled pang as she recognized the dress, her hands burying themselves in the baby pink fluff, the whisper of silk chiffon sliding over her skin as gentle as a lover’s kiss.

 

“They want to start with this piece.” Irri said softly.

 

Dany nodded, willing her knees to hold her weight as she stood. “Of course. It’s his signature after all.” She glanced over her shoulder again, Jon still watching, his brow pinched. “You want to give us a minute?”

 

His jaw worked abruptly, his adam’s apple bobbing. “Um… Can’t.” He spread his hands defensively. “It’s against protocol to let you out of my sight in an unsecured location without another member of the security team here.”

 

She raised an eyebrow at him, his uncomfortability amusing and enticing all at once. “Is that so?” She purred, grasping the distraction with both hands, much preferring torturing her new bodyguard to wallowing in self-pity and grief any day.

 

“Aye.” He seemed to steel himself, his shoulders drawing up tightly as his hands clenched and unclenched at his side.

 

“So be it.” She kept her gaze locked on his as she drew the robe’s belt into her hands, slowly pulling until it went taut in her grasp, the tie unraveling smoothly. Taking pity on him at the last possible moment she turned as she slipped the silk from her bare shoulders, the red robe pooling at her feet, stifling a laugh at the scandalized look on his face that seemed to imply she might have been a tad slow. Irri and Jhiqui gathered the robe and helped her struggle into the dress and matching shoes. There was a brief cough behind her and Dany grinned at the two women as they fussed with the fabric, making sure that the ruching was laying properly, no hair out of place, or blemish in sight.

 

Finally satisfied, Irri smiled at her, and turned her back around, offering her a hand to balance on as Jhiqui fought to gather the enormous train. Jon’s gaze settled heavily over her and she had to stifle a shiver at the dark look he threw her way. She cleared her throat lightly and tilted her head. “Shall we?”

 

~*~*~

 

Years in the Night’s Watch had trained him for tediousness, how to stand for hours-- hands behind his back, careful eyes roving for potential threats. But the first lessons and habits had been learned much earlier, taught by Ned Stark, ingrained until it was second nature, to  _ look,  _ to memorize faces and notice anything,  _ anyone, _ that didn’t belong. Currently, there was a ball of tension in his gut, the result of not having more eyes on the ground, an unsecured perimeter, and the fact that he been had asked to move out of the way more than once.

 

With the sun now high in the sky, King’s Landing transformed into a balmy warmth that he hated. Jon finally gave in and shed his jacket, pushing up the sleeves of his Henley, and slightly mourned the loss of the familiar leather barrier and its shield against the curious and appraising looks he had been receiving since its removal. Or maybe they were looking at him fidgeting with his shoulder holster, too used to carrying his handgun at his hip, the weight of it balanced at his side not as comfortable as it should be. 

 

Donning his sunglasses to hide his shifting gaze, he had to admit that even with the lack of security, nothing threatening had come to his attention. So he entertained himself by watching Daenerys and what seemed to be endless amounts of patience as she turned this way and that, molding her facial expressions to what the photographer called out, blinking sultry at the camera.

 

She had been marched from one spot to the next, tossing amused looks over her shoulder at him that were intended to chafe on his nerves, and informed him she’d be changing into different outfits as she went. Just how many bloody photos of the same thing did they need?

 

Currently he watched, safely settled to the side, making no move to help as she climbed precariously down from a spiral staircase assembled in the middle of the garden. She had been perched up there, fabric falling-- long and trailing from great heights as she leaned, smiling when asked. It was ridiculous and she was ridiculous in that dress that made her look like cotton candy. The same sugary sweet pink candy that they’d get at tourneys as children, melting over his fingers as quick as he could lick it off.

 

Swallowing hard, he turned away to scan over everyone again, looking for anyone loitering at the sides and tried futilely to  _ definitely  _ not think about the fact that Daenerys looked like something good enough to eat. Rolling his neck in hopes of relieving the tension, he ignored the heat of his body, the throb of his elbow where he’d hit one of the clothing racks in surprise as she had dropped her robe in front of him, all that creamy skin on display, looking soft and luscious and tempting-- 

 

“Jon Snow?”

 

A low voice broke him out of his spiral, the embarrassment of being caught in a daydream and unaware was something he’d give himself a stern lecture on later. “Yes.”

 

The man was young and somber, accent giving him away as being a native from somewhere is Essos. “My name is  Grey Turgon. Mr. Lannister sent me out to you. I’m part of the current security team.”

 

Jon shook the offered hand, found the grip steady and strong without needing to try and flex authority or muscle. “Nice to meet you.” He gave a polite smile as he readied himself to test the young man. “Ask me for identification.”

 

“What?”

 

There was a flicker of confusion, and Jon bit back the annoyance building inside of him. “I could be lyin’ to you about who I am. Ask for my identification.”

 

“Yes, Ser.” Grey’s posture stiffened with the command, not with the slight chastising, making Jon think he had a military background,. “Please Ser, may I see your I.D.?”

 

Gingerly pulling it from his pocket, he handed it over, letting the other man study it as he kept an eye on Daenerys as she was surrounded again. Anxiety filled his chest, cold tingling down his spine as she all but disappeared behind the mass of bodies, only the top of her silver head visible. Laughter rang out and he forced himself to relax, the sound of it as soothing as the gentle glide of fingers over skin, warming and bright, a stark contrast to the morose and bleak colors he had gotten used to. 

 

Shaking his head to focus, Jon let his eyes flit to the man beside him before he was drawn back to his charge in the crowd. “What is it that you do here, currently?”

 

“I’m on the gate.” Grey shifted a bit from where he stood ramrod straight. “Twelve hour shifts.”

 

Long hours to be sitting and watching. An almost impossible task that would inevitably lead to sloppy work, missed items, people overlooked. “How many security cameras are here?”

 

“Working or in general, Ser?”

 

The small edges of a smile tugged at his mouth, both surprised and pleased at the retort. This Grey might have potential. “I’d like the information on both please.”

 

“There are twelve cameras, seven are operational. We have blind spots on the sides of the house and most of the lawn. Inside cameras are also out.”

 

Rage simmered and then boiled, coloring his sight for a moment and he blinked rapidly to clear it. Someone had been in their manse, had let themselves into Daenerys’ room and they still were half arsing their security.

 

She popped out of the teeming mass of people, the pink confection gone, his attention arresting on the simple floral dress she was in, arms and shoulder bared-- not at all scandalous, but apparently showing enough skin to completely derail his anger. Stalking over the grass in heels that boosted her height, he tried not to bite his tongue as she moved towards him.

 

“We are moving to the greenhouse. Come along, Jon Snow, since you insist on being stuck to my side like a bur.”

 

Ignoring her exasperated tone, he tried not to watch her blood red mouth as she spoke, nodding to Grey to move with them, wondering if her lipstick smeared.  _ Gods, he was too easily distracted by her. _

 

They indeed settled in front of a greenhouse at the back of the mansion, large rose bushes growing taller than her dainty frame, props set strategically about. He hadn’t noticed the dome of shiny glass, nestled in sprawling flower gardens when he came over the lawn, the building tucked behind the manse and it settled as another grating itch that he had no idea which direction danger was mostly like to come from, or what were his best routes for retreat and extraction. 

 

The steady crescendo of voices and camera shuttering filled the air again, Daenerys posing with an air of aloofness. Jon found himself strangely fascinated by it. “Where are you from, Grey?” She stopped and per the photographer’s request, started her routine again. Jon scanned everything around them, rocking up onto his toes, dropping back down to his heels.

 

“Astapor.”

 

That bit of news drew his attention away from Daenerys. “Unsullied?” He let out a low whistle at the nod of confirmation, reassessing where they might want the young man. Although Meereen had wrestled control away from Astapor and Yunkai, and their new laws had stopped the barbaric practices of the Unsullied training program, the military force was still known far across the Narrow Sea as some of the toughest, strictest, fighting forces across the lands. “You’re a long ways from home.”

 

“No. That was not home.”

 

The words hit Jon in the chest with a hollow pang, making him feel like he was floundering for a moment. It was the same yearning that had driven him to the Wall, haunted him while he was there. The inability to find  _ home.  _

 

The sound of his name pulled him away from his reflections, Missandei moving rapidly towards them with a polite smile, and Grey shifted beside him at the interruption. Glancing at Daenerys quickly, he moved to the side, letting her assistant settle between them.

 

“You are requested to meet with Tyrion in his office, right now. Here.”

 

She handed over two sets of comms, and Jon slipped the piece into his ear-- a familiar motion, its light weight settling in. He wound the cord behind his neck, struggling for a moment to slip it under his shirt. With a sharp tug, he pulled the hem of the fabric back down over his stomach from where it had pulled out of his jeans, glancing up to see Daenerys watching him intently, her eyes flickering away quickly.

 

Not giving himself a moment to think upon  _ that,  _ he tapped the comms. “Robb?”

 

“Loud and clear, brother. Meet us in Tyrion’s office.”

 

He was not thrilled at the prospect of leaving Daenerys out here unprotected, even though nothing had threatened while under his careful watch. Still it was a trepidation in his veins, hesitation making his feet heavy as he walked away from the fragrant garden, his charge under the seemingly capable protection of Grey, once the former soldier’s comms had been verified as working.

 

Clipped words and stern tones echoed down the hall leading the way to the office, the interior’s dark stained wood giving an odd sense of foreboding in the afternoon light, his footsteps hollow on the hardwood as he stopped to take in the room’s occupants.

 

Tyrion sat behind his desk, exasperation writ large on his features and Jon wryly assumed that must be a frequent expression while working for the Targaryens. Robb was sitting in one of the three spare chairs, the line of his body showing he was not as relaxed as he was attempting to appear. The third occupant was unfamiliar, yet Jon could see traces of the man’s father in him, internally bristling at the reminder of the past he was desperately trying to ignore.

 

“Ah, Jon. How’s your first foray into the world of House Targaryen?” Tyrion’s mouth turned up in an amused smile.

 

“Tedious.” Jon sat when the man gestured, the leather chair creaking under his weight, and propped an ankle over his knee to try and quell the impatient habit of bouncing his leg. “And inconvenient since I have no fuckin’ idea where anything is, or exactly what cameras are working, yet she’s out there in the broad daylight with minimal protection.” He gritted his teeth to keep from glaring at Jorah Mormont, wanting nothing more than to give the man a verbal dress down about the lax of security.

 

“I have managed to keep Daenerys safe for the past ten years.” There was a snap in the tone, Jorah’s face glowering as he turned to Jon and Robb.

 

“Really?” Robb’s mouth twisted, and Jon felt the anger vibrate through him. “I believe we have two notes threatening her life that prove otherwise.”

 

“But she is safe. Daenerys doesn’t want to be smothered by security. She wants some semblance of a normal life.” Jorah folded his arms across his broad chest and begrudgingly sat when Tyrion pointed to the last remaining chair.

 

Jon was unable to sit quietly and calmly, a tactic Robb had learned and mastered, snark and sternness his brother’s usual weapons of choice. Jon’s foot slammed down onto the floor, frustration screaming through him as his body jolted up, a snarl rising in his chest. “But it’s not normal is it? She’s going to have to compromise and for some bloody reason, you are unable to see that, or unwilling to make it happen. Just why is that, Mormont?”

 

It was a pointed question and Jon knew it scored a direct hit, barbs digging in deep as a quick look of guilt flashed over the other man’s face. He forced himself to refrain from saying anything else, giving himself a moment to rub his hand over the back of his neck, needing an outlet for his animosity as he tried to rein himself back in.

 

“Now, now, let’s not turn this into a dick measuring contest, shall we? It would be embarrassing for you all to lose to a dwarf.” Tyrion’s interjection was meant to diffuse and distract, and Jon felt his lips quirk into a reluctant smile, unable to resist. “Now, Jorah—“ Tyrion rolled right into the subject change with ease. “—after a discussion between Viserys and I, we have decided that Stark Securities will be taking over. This decision is not meant to slight or dismiss the work you have done,” hands folded around the desk in front of him. “But, in light of recent events, we may in fact, be over our heads. This can only help, not hinder in the long run.”

 

It was a clever speech. Jon had almost forgotten the easy way Tyrion had with words. Relaxing back into his chair, he fastened his fingers over the armrests to keep his hands from twitching, trying to dampen down his agitation and readiness to head back outside and relieve Grey from his post.

 

“Now, Jon, I would like a list of equipment that need repaired, and any recommendations as to who you prefer to do the work. Since you will be here full time, I would also like to see proposals on anything, systems, rotations, or otherwise, that you would like to be changed or added. Under the contract made between House Targaryen and Stark Securities, you will be Head of security as well as being Daenerys’ bodyguard at all times.”

 

Surprise coursed through him— a jolt of electricity, and he knew the bewilderment was written on his face as he turned to look at his brother, who he had assumed would maintain control. “I am?”

 

“Aye.” There was a softness in Robb’s eyes that he didn’t appreciate, embarrassment rolling inside of him, making him feel awkward and clumsy. Instead, he focused on the contrasting firm set of his brother's face. “You are more than qualified, Jon. It makes sense since you will be here full time. Time to earn your fifty percent of the company, brother.”

 

The affection was smothering after learning the hard way how to do without it, even if it was being given by a sibling. He drew in a breath, trying to keep his expression neutral, needing to steer away from the mess of emotions. “I’ll hold up my end,” he turned to Tyrion with a sharp look. “And I want to see that note.”

 

With a nod of agreement, Tyrion shuffled through a drawer, until he found the innocuous piece of paper. Reaching over the top of the desk, Jon snagged it, the object light, considering the heaviness of the hate it contained. Taking a deep breath he dove in, absorbing the vitriol with horror, jaw clenching to channel the urge to march outside and gather Daenerys up, shield her from being the subject of all this targeted hostility and revulsion. Yet, the pragmatic side of him emerged— the well trained professional who needed his client to understand the depth of her situation. 

 

“She needs to see this.” Ignoring Tyrion’s scowl, he pulled out his phone and took a picture, wanting to ensure he had a copy of his own to study. It was nothing personal against Tyrion or Mormont, but previous experience had assured him that sometimes a person had to watch his own back. 

 

“No.” Jorah vehemently protested, climbing to his feet to pace. “With Rhaegar’s death, with her stalker in Essos, she’s been through enough. She doesn’t need this weighing on her as well.”

 

Jon stood, Robb joining him as he carefully chose his words. “She needs to see this. Not only does she need to understand—“ he shook the offending object to draw their attention to it, “—but the City Watch is going to want to speak to her about it, everyone realizes that, right?” He tossed the paper back on the desk, annoyance keeping him strung wire tight. “I’m not sure why everyone is treating her like she’s a piece of glass. I’ve known her approximately—“ he checked his watch, “—three hours, and I can tell you, that woman is not fragile. You are not doing her any favors by withholding this. I’m not sayin’ I go marching outside to show her this _right_ _now_ , but she sees it, sooner rather than later.”

 

He let his words sink in, ready to stand firm, the stubbornness that clung to him rising to the forefront. This was hate through and through, and according to Tyrion, a misplaced malevolence that threatened her very existence. It was beyond absurd that the information was being kept from her, played down. It was horrific that she would have to be exposed to it, a twinge of regret inside of him at the need to throw a blight over her brightness, but he had to make her understand, to accept any and all help.

 

“Okay.” Tyrion rapped his knuckles on his desk, a defeated sigh resounding in the quiet as his shoulders slumped. “I don’t care for it, but I’ll agree to it.” A resolute nod stilled Jorah’s protest before it could start. “I believe that we are done for now, gentlemen.”

 

Without a backward glance, Jon moved towards the door, feeling the presence of Robb behind him. Once safely ensconced in the seclusion of the hallway he turned, trying to untangle the threads inside of him. “You’re Stark Securities. I was at the Wall, I only have fifty percent because you insisted—“

 

“Shut up.” Robb’s words were said good naturedly, a man used to the behavior of his broody brother. “It makes the most sense, so deal with it.” A heavy hand slapped Jon on the shoulder, making his chest tighten as a unfamiliar, but not unwelcome trickle of warmth flowed through him. “I’ll go ahead and check out the cameras, make the call for repairs since Viserys is holed up and not requiring my services. Go follow Daenerys Targaryen’s lovely arse around.”

 

It was there, a flicker of possessiveness sparking to life inside of him that he didn’t like. “Eyes to yourself, Stark. I’m sure your wife wouldn’t want you ogling anyone else.”

 

Robb’s laugh set his teeth on edge. “She knows she needn’t worry. I prefer hers.”

 

With a disapproving shake of his head, Jon started his journey back outside, confirming with Grey that the entourage had moved to the pond, attempting to convince himself that he was not going to let himself be wound up over some woman, beautiful or not.

 

He found the pond mostly by the sound of the crowd of people, the long walk over the grass giving him time to find his center and calm, drop some of the tension, settling back into the familiar and comfortable routine of alertness as he scanned and analyzed the crowd and surroundings.

 

The click of heels on pavement brought him up short, and the sea of people parting enough to give him an excellent view of her in the latest ridiculous outfit— some sort of ridiculous hat balancing on top of her head. The trench coat she was “wearing” lent to the idea of nothing beneath from what he could tell, the exposed skin temptingly unblemished.

 

Stopping suddenly, he crossed his arms, scowling at his inability to control his reactions, annoyance lancing through him as he tried to ignore the quickening of blood in his veins as she laughed, her face lighting up in with a devious smile, a well manicured finger pulling the brim of the hat down, tipping her head with a flourish. A silly gesture that lightened some of the weight in his chest.

 

Letting loose a long stream of air, Jon hoped that the deranged person after her would be apprehended quickly. Otherwise, this was going to be a long assignment.

 

~*~*~

 

“And, that’s a wrap, people!” The photographer’s voice rang out across the lawn, followed by a round of applause from the entire crew. Dany dipped her head graciously, accepting Edric’s kiss on the hand and murmured a few words of encouragement to the young gentleman, hoping that this shoot would catapult his career forward in the way he so obviously hoped that it would. The entire crew set to work as one, packing up all the equipment as Irri and Jhiqui scrambled to her side, each grabbing a hand to help her hobble across the grass to the paved walkway.

 

Dany looked around, wondering where Jon had disappeared to, her pulse kicking up in sudden concern. If Jon was gone, that could only mean that danger was somewhere in the vicinity, and—

 

His sable curls came into view, sunglasses firmly in place against the setting sun, and Dany blew out a breath of relief as she glanced over her shoulder to find the newest of Jorah’s hires, Grey, flanking her closely with Missandei hovering nearby. She shot her assistant a curious look, the young woman’s blush lingering tellingly on her cheeks. Thanking Irri and Jhiqui, Dany motioned for Missandei to join her, not quite remembering her schedule for the rest of the evening, but doubted that she would be allowed to relax the tension of the shoot away in her claw-foot tub.

 

Sure enough, Missandei was already scrolling through her phone, her golden eyes flashing once toward Grey, and Dany gave a light laugh, looping her assistant's free arm through her own and striding down the walkway to where Jon waited stoically. She wondered if he had ever done any modeling of his own, his stance steady but relaxed. The afternoon had likely been boring in the extreme for him, silently watching her every step, but he seemed not to mind too much. Not that she had been subtly studying him out of the corner of her eye between shots, trying to get a read on him. 

 

In fact, it was while she was most decidedly  _ not  _ watching him that she’d caught his eyes roving over her multiple times since their tumultuous introduction, and as she approached him she sensed that this moment was no different. His scowl deepened as his head followed the line of her body from the tip of her hat to the tops of her toes, his dark eyes hidden from view by the sunglasses, but the sudden tightness in his face, the way his shoulders drew back told her everything she needed to know about what Jon Snow thought of her famed beauty.

 

He hated it. 

 

Or, more accurately, he very much liked what he was seeing (most men did), but hated the effect she had on him, the way his eyes seemed to slide helplessly to the column of her neck, the sweep of her legs. Dany felt her lips quirk into a small grin, unable to help the laugh that escaped from her at his expense, from teasing him as she pulled the brim of her hat down over her eyes in a salute. “Jon,” she said lightly in greeting, a spiral of secret delight as he stepped back from her, his throat working silently as he tried to gather his words.

 

“Daenerys,” his brogue washed over her with a shiver, her adrenaline already peaked from a long day. “Everythin‘ good?” His gazed flicked from her face to Grey, behind her, who nodded once.

 

“Yes, we’re wrapped. Missandei was just about to tell me what I’ve forgotten and what our evening has in store for us.” 

 

Missandei’s voice seemed far away as Jon pulled the sunglasses from his face to study her, his displeasure written wide across his face. A thrill raced down her spine as she cocked an eyebrow at him, her own smile growing as she continued to walk toward the manse, the rest falling into step with them. “— and we’re expected at Blackwater Grille at seven o’clock. I’ve already advised the board that you’ll have one more guest than previously expected—“

 

“Three.” Jon’s voice echoed across the lawn, a subtle smile of his own creeping across his face, making Dany feel as if she were somehow caught in a trap of her own making. “If you insist on going to a dinner in yet another unsecured location, then Jorah and Grey are coming with us.”

 

Wary of whatever he was planning, Dany fought to keep the relaxed smile fixed on her face. “Of course. Missandei, please make the arrangements. Will Mr. Stark also be joining us?”

 

“Ah,” Missandei’s chagrined voice cut in before Jon had a chance to answer. “It seems as if Viserys has decided that his presence is not mandatory for this event. Mr. Stark will be staying with him in the manse this evening.”

 

Dany reached for her wrist before she could stop herself, the ache from the morning now dull but constant. She huffed out a breath, torn between frustration at her brother’s erratic behavior, and relief that the chances of him making a scene were significantly fewer when holed up at home. Realizing that Jon was watching her acutely, she lifted her chin. “Very well. In that case, please make sure that Jon  _ and  _ Jorah are brought up to speed on the location.”

 

“No need,” Jon said easily, motioning for Dany to precede him into the house. “He’ll follow whatever orders I lay down.” 

 

_ That _ brought her up short and she stopped abruptly in the doorway, turning to face Jon as his momentum carried him straight into her, both of them stumbling through the open door of the solar, his hands grasping her hips to steady her on the ridiculously tall heels as she scowled within his grip. 

 

He was shorter than she thought, the heels bringing her even to his height, his breath puffing against her cheek as he fought to keep them both upright. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

 

He chuckled softly, the grip on her hips easing as she regained her balance and stepped back, reaching down to rip the accursed shoes from her feet and handing them wordlessly to Jhiqui. She felt cold once his hands dropped away, the air-conditioning of the manse no doubt working overtime on this sunny day. “There’s a new Lord Commander in town now, Daenerys. Best get used to it.” His soft words were meant just for her, meant to bristle, to burrow under her skin. 

 

Well, two could definitely play at that game.

 

“Very well,  _ Lord Commander _ ,” she went back up onto her toes, the fingers of her left hand dancing lightly across his sculpted shoulder as she leaned forward to breathe into his ear. “Missandei,” the tip of his lobe was turning a delicate shade of pink, similar to the sunsets she had seen in Essos. “Find this man a suit. I don’t think leather is an acceptable part of the dress code at Blackwater Grille.”

 

~*~*~

 

Under Irri, Jhiqui, and Missandei’s care, she was ready in record time— the strapless mint green dress hugging her curves just so, the mesh skirt brushing the tops of her ankles, her hair pulled back into an artistically messy knot. She reached for the handmade chandelier earrings the children of  _ Rhaegar's Harp _ had gifted to her on her last visit, and slid them on while Jhiqui tightened the strap of her shoes, thankfully a full inch or two shorter than her previous pair.

 

With one last glance in her full length mirror, Dany gathered her clutch and bid Irri and Jhiqui a pleasant evening, thanking them for all the beautiful work they had done during the day and gave them a quick squeeze of appreciation. Missandei fell into step beside her, guest list in hand so they could review the  _ Who’s Who _ of the evening on the way. 

 

They swept easily down the stairs, Missandei’s ever steady voice a quiet hum in the background as she reviewed which members of the Board would be present, which top donors, and which of the children would also be making an appearance.  _ Rhaegar's Harp  _ had been founded first and foremost as a children’s music program, catering to her brother’s true passion in his memory, however the need for financial assistance to the residents of Flea Bottom was astronomical, and the charity had adapted to full after-school care and, in the more dire cases, advocacy and shelter for the homeless families and children that struggled to call that desolate wasteland home, her little birds in dire need of love and care.

 

“The older children will be putting on a musical performance with the instruments donated by Septon Maynard—“

 

Dany huffed out a breath. “Good, maybe then he’ll back off about our stance regarding his ‘mandatory’ introduction to the Faith of the families staying in our care.”

 

Missandei chuckled softly. “I doubt it, being the devout servant of the Seven he claims to be.”

 

“One can only hope—“ The rest of her words died on the tip of her tongue, her gaze lighting on Jon at the base of the grand staircase, the crisp blue suit that Missandei had managed to pull for him a perfect fit. The jacket hugged his broad shoulders, the tail of it falling just above the most perfect ass she had ever seen to grace a pair of pants, the small lump at his side giving away his gun. She fought back a shudder at the sight of it, her mouth suddenly dry at the prospect of leaving the manse with nothing between her and the threat of death except for the man before her.

 

“It’s about time,” his exasperation pulled her up short as he glanced down at his watch. “We’re runnin’ eight minutes behind.”

 

She could feel the flush rising up her chest, her exasperation crystallizing in an instant. “Not all of us are able to simply change clothes and be ready to go, Jon Snow,” she snapped. “Some of us have more than one job to do.”

 

His brow pinched as he glared at her, his gaze once more raking her from head to toe in a way that left her breathless, a tingling at the base of her spine that crawled ever northward, a creeping coldness to soothe her fire. “And some of our jobs are impossible,” he retorted. “Can you even run in those heels if we need to?”

 

Dany blinked, jerking herself out of his thrall and glanced down at her bejeweled open toed sandals, sensing more than seeing the familiar presence of Jorah out of the corner of her eye. She could feel her fingers turning white as she gripped her clutch tightly, anything to keep her frustration from spilling out. Instead, she raised an eyebrow at him mockingly and threaded her arm through Jorah’s elbow. Let him ruminate on  _ that _ .

 

“I believe it’s your job to make sure I don’t have to,” she sniffed, pert little nose thrust into the air as she moved toward the front door, Jorah more than happy to oblige her, opening the front door and escorting her to the town car which awaited.

 

The ride was tense and silent-- she was sandwiched between Jon and Missandei, the only sound Jon’s muttering through his comms as he directed Grey through the heavy traffic along the River Row. Thankfully, they arrived with no incidents, and Dany waited patiently as Jorah opened the door. Missandei climbed out gracefully, and Dany moved to follow when she felt Jon’s hand close over her wrist. “Wait for his all clear,” he said, his eyes roving over her to the busy entrance, the restaurant one of the most popular on Blackwater Bay.

 

There was a pause before Jorah’s hand appeared, and she took it, allowing the bear of a man to assist her in climbing out of the car as Jon quickly slid out behind her, grasping her elbow to hurry her indoors. His hands were warm, the rough callouses a delightful contradiction against the soft skin of her inner arm. The hostess greeted them warmly, immediately escorting them back to the private room Missandei had arranged. She opened the immense doors to a large room hewn from rock and sea stone, a beautiful grotto carved into a cliff face with breathtaking views of the bay.

 

Dany gasped as she stepped through the doors, her hand seeking out Missandei’s behind her. “Oh, Dei,” she murmured quietly, giving her friend a gentle squeeze. “Well done. This is breathtaking!” Missandei smiled in reply, ever the consummate professional and led her and Jon through the already gathered throng of Westeros’ social elite to their table so Dany could find her assigned seat and drop her clutch. 

 

“I need to make the rounds,” she leaned toward Jon and he nodded, again murmuring into the comm at his wrist. He held up a finger for a moment until he got some sort of clearance from Jorah at the main entrance to the cavernous room, and he released her elbow, gesturing for her to proceed. 

 

“I want you no more than three steps from me at all times,” he said softly. “And no leavin’ this room without either Jorah, Grey, or I with you. Missandei does not count, do you understand?”

 

Dany nodded stiffly, returning the wave of one of her top donors. “Fine. Now if you’ll excuse me?”

 

Jon sighed and stepped back, Missandei closing ranks on her other side, whispering the names and personal details of each person as Dany flitted about the room, anxious to make sure that no hint of her current circumstances would mar the evening. It was about the children, after all.

 

The light, floral scent hit her before Missandei could whisper into her ear, and Dany turned, a wide smile spreading across her features. “Varys,” she extended a hand to her Shelter Administrator, and the bald man grasped it gently, his smooth lips pressed against the back in a whisper of a kiss. “How are you this evening? How are our little birds?”

 

The effeminate man tittered a laugh, tucking Dany’s hand securely into the crook of his elbow. “They miss you desperately, my dear,” he said softly, leading her to where the group from the shelter had gathered, their eyes wide at the opulence surrounding them. 

 

“I miss them as well,” she murmured, turning to press a quick kiss to both of Varys’ cheeks before she released him and paying no mind to her dress, went to her knees before the youngest child-- a little boy of no more than four years, his enormous brown eyes peeking out at her from under a mop of unruly blonde curls. “I’ll have to make sure to come visit you all soon!”

 

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure that Missandei had caught the subtle instruction, beaming as her assistant nodded and reached for her phone to find the appropriate date, pulling Varys aside to negotiate the timing as Dany was left to love on their little birds.

 

All too soon, she was pulled away from the young ones, donors and Board members alike demanding her attention throughout the night, one even going so far as to corner her during the children’s performance, both Jon and Missandei never more than a step or two away. At the close of the evening, she made sure that she was stationed at the doorway, taking another moment to personally thank each person for coming, another chance to give all the children that would let her a quick squeeze or affectionate pat, pouring all the love she possessed into them until she felt wrung out and dry.

 

Finally, there was no one left in the room except for her own team and the restaurant staff, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with her as she stooped to unclasp her shoes, sinking her bare toes into the plush carpet with a sigh of gratitude. “You didn’t have time to eat,” Jon’s voice washed over her and she blinked blearily at him. 

 

“Did I not?” A quick glance at Missandei confirmed that, yet again, she had managed to host a function without a single bite of food making it past her lips.

 

“I asked the kitchen to make you a plate. Why don’t you have a seat on the patio…” her voice trailed off as her golden eyes found Jon’s. “If that’s ok? I’ll bring it out to her there.”

 

Jon nodded once. “Looks like some fresh air might be good for her.”

 

“I’m right here,” Dany grumbled good-naturedly, too tired to put up anymore of a fight, instead looking forward to a quick meal, and a restful night’s sleep. She gathered up her shoes and mouthed a grateful  _ thank you _ to Missandei as she slipped past Jon toward the open Pentoshi doors, a line of tables along the water outside their private grotto partitioned off from prying eyes by yards upon yards of colored silks.

 

The sun had set long ago, but the moon was bright and full, the reflection dancing off the waters of Blackwater Bay, the sounds of the waves crashing against the distant shore relaxing. The temperature had dropped drastically from the heat of midday, and Dany shivered slightly as she leaned against the railing, closing her eyes and allowing the breeze to caress her flushed face.

 

She felt more than heard Jon over her right shoulder, his silent presence actually somewhat comforting after a night of nonstop banter and mostly meaningless chatter. Letting her eyes fall open, she kept her gaze fixed on the horizon, something inside of her craving his understanding-- if nothing else-- at the end of this very long and trying day.

 

“I know you think I’m vapid, that what I do is pointless and vain. Most people think that about fashion.” She took a deep breath, allowing the scent of the sea to buoy her, to fill her with a cautious hope. “But I hope you can see it-- the entire scope and breadth of my career in one day.” Her fingers gripped the railing tightly, struggling to find the words she was searching for, the words to make him understand. “What I did this morning allows for the events of tonight to take place. And those children are hopefully better off today then they were yesterday. Spokes on a wheel…” her voice drifted off, no longer making sense in her exhaustion. “I just want to live long enough to… to matter. To make a difference. Because in the end what else matters except the difference you tried to make?”

 

He said nothing in response, but when she shivered again, she felt the weight of his suit jacket fall over her shoulders, the pine smell of his cologne lingering with the cold bite of the breeze, both silent as they watched the moonlit waves.

 

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to say hi in the comments! ❤️


	4. Won’t You Hold Me In Your Arms, And Keep Me Safe From Harm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon saw the move before it happened, Viserys’ temper rising quickly, his hand darting out to grab Daenerys. He responded without thinking, hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her into his side, out of her brother’s reach, her eyes fixing on him in utter surprise. But he wasn’t looking at that, only the pure hate dripping from Viserys. 
> 
> “Hands to yourself.” He warned quietly, astonishment registering across the other man’s face at the fact someone dared deny him anything.
> 
> “Who do you think you are?”
> 
> “Bodyguard, remember.” Jon realized he still had his arm around her waist, soft and warm pressed up against him. He let go. She stayed there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the ever amazing and wonderful Alice for lending us your excellent beta skills. I’m fairly certain we hurry up and write just to see what your reaction will be. *my favorite is when you yell at us* 
> 
> And thank you JW for giving us some time for a moodboard in the middle of your chaos. We always appreciate you ❤️
> 
> To my friend/writing partner who is a genius.. be proud of this chapter.. it’s your baby and it’s pretty damn good.

 

 

 

**_Won't you hold me in your arms, and keep me safe from harm_ **

  
  


~*~*~

 

The crunch of gravel gave away the two sets of footsteps as Robb adjusted his sunglasses, watching dutifully as they moved towards the sleek black town car, the door open and accommodating, ready for Viserys to duck his silver head through.

 

He had been mildly surprised that out of the two siblings, Viserys was the easy one. He was often rude and short tempered, but had yet to try and defy Robb’s security protocols. So far an easy job, especially when leaving Jon in charge of overseeing everything, his hands more than full with Daenerys and her busy schedule. Robb would be lying if he said he wasn’t amused by the two of them not so subtly trying to figure each other out. Only a few days in and his brother was already losing some of the haunted look around his eyes, instead carrying a look of mild frustration. Robb preferred that on him. 

 

Adjusting his jacket, he closed the door behind Viserys, his charge secured in the vehicle and slid into the front seat, clicking his seat belt into place. “Are we ready?”

 

True to his nature, Viserys gave a wave of his hand-- a motion Robb had already learned, that meant  _ get on with it, _ and was already on the phone, no time to spare for his hired help. Robb didn’t roll his eyes, though the temptation was there, and instead gave a nod of confirmation to the driver, Doreah, who put the car into gear and started them down the driveway.

 

Robb wasn’t quite sure what to think of her— his first introduction to the woman had been when she had slipped out of Viserys’ room before an early morning meeting, buttoning her shirt and giving Robb a rather cheeky wink as she slipped by. He had been rather shocked to find her standing in front of the car, just a bit later that day, not sparing her employer-also-lover a second glance.

 

A thorough background check had shown she had spent some time in Lys, clawing her way up from orphaned beginnings. Robb felt slightly guilty about uncovering the fact she had at one point sold herself on a regular basis before making it to Pentos, joining a prestigious house and learning the necessary skills to get her to Westeros and into the employment of the Targaryens. And she was good at her job— Robb had to give her that credit even if he did side eye her person of choice for extra curricular activities. 

 

They spent their ride in silence, low music playing as Robb checked for tails, eyes constantly in motion, fingers tapping in a steady rhythm on the door handle as they stopped and started at lights, weaving their way down through Flea Bottom and crossing the King’s Road. Traffic was heavy for mid-morning, but Robb preferred being just another nondescript car in the sea of vehicles.

 

“Well, you two are boring.”

 

Sparing a glance into the visor mirror, Robb verified that Viserys was sprawled across the backseat, the very picture of boredom, light hair a contrast against the black leather seats. He tried to tamp down the feeling of  _ spoiled, rich dickhead _ as he adjusted his gaze back to their journey. “Was there something in particular you wanted to talk about, Ser?”

 

A scoff sounded before the window rolled partly down, a muffled breeze filling the interior, and then back up, before starting the process over. “No. I just assumed there would be some liveliness to this boring trip.” The silver head popped forward, fingers tugging on the sleeve of Doreah’s blazer. “Maybe, he could drive and you and I could--“

 

The phone rang and Viserys promptly cut off whatever inappropriate suggestion he was going to make and with a quiet hum, the divider rolled up, cutting him away from the rest of the car. Robb felt his frustration starting to boil as they turned down Red Light Way, a street that used to be known in days of old for its brothels, now lines with office buildings instead.

 

“You’re judging, Mr. Stark.” Doreah’s voice was quiet, but not cowed, chin staying firm and she didn’t bother to spare him a sideways glance. “You don’t approve.”

 

“You don’t need my approval.” Robb started verifying addresses, checking the rearview mirrors to make sure nothing was there that shouldn’t be. “None of my business who’s in your bed, except—“ he tipped his head towards her. “Don’t you think that sleeping with the man who writes your paychecks is a disaster waiting to happen?”

 

She snorted, a quick upturn of a her full lips. “You try telling a Targaryen no.” Her eyes widened as soon as she said the words, Robb’s stomach giving a lurch. “I don’t mean it like that.”

 

_ Like that  _ was a horrible option that set his teeth together in a rage, made him want to rip Viserys out of the car and smash his pretty face into the sidewalk. He wasn’t convinced, with her background that she’d think she could say no. “Doreah. Fuck.”

 

“Don’t be dramatic, I haven’t done anything that I’m not more than willing to participate in.” She rolled her eyes as they pulled up to the curb. “And I know nothing is going to come out of it other than sex.” She put the car in park, and slid on her sunglasses. “I can’t wait to see your reaction when Dany decides she wants your brother in her bed, Mr.  _ Follow the Rules _ .”

 

“Jon wouldn’t.” He said it with an air of confidence, hand gripping the handle to exit the vehicle. There were rules that had been set long ago, wisdom from their father, and Jon was nothing if not a stickler for the rules.

 

“Keep believing that, Stark.”

 

The words settled as an itch between his shoulder blades, despite his belief, the image of how Jon and Daenerys were circling around each other with thinly veiled attraction as they each tried to figure the other out. 

 

But Jon was so  _ serious _ , always had been, even as a child— duty and responsibility, the need for Ned’s approval overriding almost anything else. 

 

_ Except his inability to walk away from someone who needed help.  _ A little voice reminded him as he scanned the sidewalk, looked up at the buildings, and mentally counted the steps between the car and the doorway.  _ Jon wouldn’t let himself become emotionally compromised.  _ Deciding the matter was settled he opened the backseat door, putting Doreah’s words behind him.

 

“It’s about bloody time.” Viserys huffed as he slid out, stopping for a moment to adjust his jacket.

 

“Keep moving, Ser.” Robb tapped his elbow, propelling him forward. “We don’t want to sit out here in the open.”

 

They moved through the doorway, his senses on high alert, his distaste for the owner of the building leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. The elevator ride was short, Viserys tapping on his phone with a bored expression, sliding it into his pocket when they arrived at the fourth floor, the hallway a muted grey, cold and unyielding as their footsteps were muffled by the thin carpet.

 

The office of Petyr Baelish sat in the corner, a perfect view for his beady eyed gaze and Robb felt himself bristling as they were ushered in by a redhead, voluptuous and confident, her eyes lingering over him for just a moment longer than appropriate. He barely refrained from rolling his eyes, needing instead to make it through the door first, check the space for anyone loitering.

 

With his nod, Viserys came through the door and Robb settled in beside him, facing the east access to see anyone coming through, and also giving him a view of the windows in the opposite building, waiting for any out of place flash.

 

“Robb Stark.” 

 

His eyes swung back to the man who’d spoken, concentrating to keep his face blank. His mother had grown up with the man nicknamed “Littlefinger”, and considered him a friend, but Ned Stark had told his children that the man was someone to never turn your back on. Robb believed his father, and wondered how the Targaryens ended up with such a shady man as CFO of their sprawling enterprise. “Baelish.”

 

“Things are that bad, Vis? You need a wolf to stand guard at your door?” Petyr took his seat, a smarmy smile across his face that Robb took an instant dislike to.

 

“You know that someone tried to poison Daenerys.” Viserys leaned back in his chair, his tone not nearly as concerned as it should be. “We’ve upped our security.”

 

“Wise decision. House Targaryen cannot withstand anymore hits.”

 

It was probably a good thing Jon wasn’t here, Robb decided, his own annoyance and anger seeping into his usually cool demeanor. A life should’ve been considered more than a financial problem, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from interjecting.

 

As the two men dropped into conversation about the finances of House Targaryen he let himself tune out somewhere around analysis of Year to Date earnings and projections and let himself focus on the building across from them, mentally counting the steps between them and the window, and tried to guess how long it would take him to move down the hall to the fire escape.

 

“Oberyn called me earlier. You know he has a show tonight.”

 

“So?”

 

There was a change in tone, the air around them shifting, drawing Robb’s attention back to Viserys, that petulant look back on his face as he tapped his fingers on the plush chair in boredom.

 

“He wants Daenerys.” There was sharp look in Littlefinger’s eyes, making Robb’s spine stiffen even more.

 

“And she said no, stubborn bitch.” Viserys shifted in his seat, ready to get up. 

 

“But, it would be beneficial, the face of House Targaryen on the runway again. How long has it been, hmm? Think of all those who would flock back to you.” Baelish’s face had taken on a shrewdness that Robb didn’t care for, a warning sizzling beneath his skin. “He’s offering her 1.5 million gold dragons for the day. You know what that means, how it would… assist in the current state of affairs?”

 

There was a sharpening to Viserys’ face, filling Robb with apprehension as if he was missing a piece of the puzzle. “Yes, I do.” He seemed to have an internal debate before his lips pulled back from his teeth in imitation of a smile. “Tell Oberyn she’ll do it. I’ll call Missandei and make it happen.”

 

They wrapped up after that, exchanging stilted pleasantries that did nothing to alleviate the tension that had settled across the room’s occupants, and made Robb want to grit his teeth since it was obvious neither man actually liked the other. But, that didn’t matter to him and he stepped out, making sure it was clear before allowing Viserys to come through the door, and fell into step beside him.

 

He pushed the button for the elevator, tapping the comm to let Doreah know they were headed out, also taking a moment to shoot Jon a quick text to let him know that his evening was likely about to become a logistical nightmare.

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

A knock on his open door broke his concentration and Jon looked up from where he had been studying the monitor, his fingers twitching in reflex before he set down his pen. “Grey, hold up please.” He tapped his comm and the young man’s image on the screen paused.

 

Tyrion stood in the doorway of the study that he had pushed into, Daenerys wanting him out of her hair with his never ending security upgrades. It had been locked up and dusty but now the light filtered in, highlighting the natural shine of the hardwood floors, the dark polish of the monstrosity of a desk that he definitely did not need. He had protested at first, but after unpacking his own equipment, the flat surfaces of his room cluttered with it all, he had to admit, it was nice to have his own space, and it was conveniently located a few doors down from hers.

 

“Come in.” He sat back, fingers pressing into his eyes for a moment, wondered how much pressure could build behind there as the other man crossed the room, settling into one of the extra chairs. 

 

“Still having cameras installed?”

 

“No, they’re all in.” Jon tilted the screen so Tyrion could see it, all the different areas numbered for easy viewing. “Just tryin’ to work out a few things. Watch.” Adjusting the screen so the other man didn’t have to crane his neck, he pointed at the camera that showed Grey in its view. “We have blind spots. See where he’s at in thirteen?” He pointed at the screen, rolled his shoulders. “Grey would you please move back into twelve.”

 

Holding his breath, he counted and waited, five heartbeats before a form moved back into the monitor, Jon writing it down on his notepad before turning back to Tyrion. “I’m not sure how much room for adjustment we have, but I need to narrow that space.” He tapped his comms. “Grey, we’ll get back to this. Will you please go check the new motion lights.”

 

“I never would have thought of that.” Tyrion shifted in his seat for a better look. “How many do you still have left?”

 

Wincing, he counted in his head, wondered how long it would take to get through them. “All of the outside still and half the manse.” Lacing his fingers behind his head, he leaned back in his chair. Between Daenerys and this, he wouldn’t have time for boredom. “I might stick Robb and Doreah on it for a bit.” He tapped where the camera showed the sleek car pulling up to the garage. “I need to check in with Missandei fairly soon, see what the schedule for the week looks like.”

 

“About that.” Tyrion frowned. “Janos Slynt is out of town for a few days and wants to handle talking to Daenerys himself. So they are pushing it back.”

 

“That should be no problem. It’s not like she’s received death threats…. Fucking imbeciles.” He was angry enough to hit something, but settled for throwing his pen at the long forgotten dart board that had been left on the wall. It was proving a welcome addition, a flare of satisfaction filling him as it hit dead center before dropping to the ground.

 

“How many pens do you have to pick up at the end of the day?”

 

He couldn’t help but give a small chuckle. “Every single one I have in my desk.” Leaning forward, he blew out a breath of frustration. “They don’t have anyone else who can take her statement?”

 

“The Commander wants to handle it personally. I don’t like it better than you.” A buzzing in his pocket had him pulling out his phone. Tapping at the screen, he spared a glance at Jon. “How are the rest of the upgrades going?”

 

“The window sensors are proving to be the most difficult to get used to.” Absentmindedly, he reached up and touched the bottom of his jaw. “We had an incident earlier.”

 

Daenerys had set the alarm off that very morning, early enough that he had still been rubbing sleep out of his eyes, mere moments from getting into the shower. The sound has coursed through his system, adrenaline kicking in as he had burst through their adjoining door in a panic to find her wide-eyed and furiously pushing buttons on the newly installed control panel.

 

The breeze from the open window, the culprit of all the mayhem, had tickled his skin as he crossed the room, her back still turned to him, lovely round arse peeking out from an oversized shirt as she tried desperately to silence the alarm.

 

That silver head fit under his chin, he noted as he reached over her to push the code into the keypad, the heat of her soaking into the coldness that was permanently settled in his chest.

 

And he was most definitely not ready for her jolting in surprise, his approach muffled, he realized belatedly, his teeth rattling together as her head hit his jaw, her balance precarious as she tried to scurry away.

 

“Daenerys.” He caught her flying elbow and spun her around, his ears ringing in the sudden silence as the alarm abruptly cut out. 

 

“Gods,  _ Jon!”  _ Her hand went over her heart, pretty blue eyes fixing on his chest, his bare chest and he fought the urge to cover himself up. “You frightened me.”

 

He took a step back, away from her soft skin and the gentle smell of whatever was in her lotion, the urge to step closer almost making him run in retreat. “Please disengage the alarms before opening the window.”

 

“I remember that  _ now.”  _ Finally she was looking him in the eye and he was thankful that he was still wearing shorts. “I don’t know why we need them, we have the bars,”

 

“You can get through bars. Bolt cutters.” Fuck, he needed to get away from her. It was too early in the morning for a mussed up Daenerys filtering into his system. He pushed the button for the speaker on the keypad, ignoring the fact they were still crowded in too close. “Jorah, the alarm company is going to call. Tell them everythin’ is alright. We are just getting used to the changes.” 

 

Tyrion’s chuckle pulled him back into the now, the heat of remembrance settling in his neck. “Hopefully we won’t have anymore false alarms.”

 

“I’m sure we will.” Without looking, he opened his desk, pulled out another pen to tap on the desk, an outlet for energy that had suddenly seemed to build. “I’d rather have false alarms than no alarm system at all.”

 

“Fair point.” Tyrion stood. “I’m off then. Good luck.”

 

He watched the other man leave before picking up his phone, thumbing to the text Robb had sent earlier and had been happy to ignore. But the City Watch statement being moved made room for this  _ fashion show _ and he could feel the anxiety growing in his chest, the impossibility of trying to secure a big event with no notice slowly riling his temper. Surely they could see what a terrible idea this would be?

 

Looking to the monitors he found Daenerys moving towards her office, her brother now in the manse and Jon checked his rising frustration, knew he’d need to go talk to her. Rubbing the scar over his heart in reflex, he went off in search.

 

She was right where he assumed she would be, feet tucked under her on the couch in her study, sketch pad in hand and he ignored the spiking of his heartbeat, assured himself it was a normal reaction since she had inadvertently gotten a glimpse of his past etched into his skin. 

 

Taking a deep breath, he gave a sharp rap on the doorframe and waited until she looked up, trying to keep their boundaries. “Can I come in?”

 

A nod gave him permission and he entered, moving towards one of the chairs, feeling like he would be trying to intimidate her if he kept to his feet for this conversation. Her eyes were shielded by her lashes, making it impossible to get a read on her, his nerves tingling as he sat.

 

“The City Watch has postponed.” And he realized in that moment, with her relaxed in the remains of what had been her brother’s space, that he would wait just a bit longer before showing her that ugly note. Let her have a few more days without someone else’s hate coloring her life. 

 

“That seems odd.” She looked back down to her paper. “Shouldn’t they have already collected my statement?”

 

The air left him in a frustrated huff, the wonderment on how the Watch could be so negligent making him want to grit his teeth. The Night’s Watch never would have allowed such shoddy delays and half arsed work. “In my opinion, yes. But I’m not City Watch.”

 

Her hum seemed to imply she could sense his true opinion on the subject, but he kept his mouth shut, knowing the more he thought of it, the angrier he would become. Besides, they had another pressing matter.

 

“Daenerys—“

 

“Sister!” Viserys stomped into the room, cutting Jon off and he felt his hackles rise in annoyance at the man for just barging in. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

 

Sugary sweetness dripped off his tone, putting Jon’s guard up, apparently doing the same for Daenerys as he watched her stiffen, flipping her sketches closed before facing her brother. 

 

“Oh? And what have I done to deserve that pleasure?” When she moved to her feet he did also, Viserys crowding in close to his sister.

 

“It’s what you are going to do. Oberyn’s show is tonight.”

 

“I know.” She was already shaking her head, and he moved a step closer to her side, pleased when Viserys glanced at him, taking in his proximity. “And I’ve already informed him no. I don’t want to—“

 

“Well, I told him yes.” Gone was the nicety from Viserys voice, instead the bully was making his appearance with his sister’s defiance. “You will be doing it.”

 

“Hold on.” Jon hated the way her face twisted at her brother’s words, the need to defend her an automatic response. “It’s too short of notice. I don’t have the time to set up our security for an event like this.” He wasn’t even sure what an ev _ ent like this _ would entail, but he assumed it would be hectic and large, much more than they had the manpower for.

 

“Oberyn has a security team.” Viserys snarled at him and Jon felt his hand twitch in response, fingers rubbing across the old burn scars on his palms. “And you will be there  _ bodyguard, _ keeping her safe. You know, your  _ job.” _

 

“I don’t want to do it, Viserys.” There was an endless amount of patience in her tone and Jon had to admire it, even though her shoulders dropped wearily. Arguing with her brother was something she seemed well versed it. “It’s not a good fit for our brand. Oberyn still uses—“

 

“The amount you’ll make by walking the damned runway should quiet your conscience.”

 

Jon saw the move before it happened, Viserys’ temper rising quickly, his hand darting out to grab Daenerys. He responded without thinking, hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her into his side, out of her brother’s reach, her eyes fixing on him in utter surprise. But he wasn’t looking at that, only the pure hate dripping from Viserys. 

 

“Hands to yourself.” He warned quietly, astonishment registering across the other man’s face at the fact someone dared deny him anything.

 

“Who do you think you are?”

 

“Bodyguard, remember.” Jon realized he still had his arm around her waist, soft and warm pressed up against him. He let go. She stayed there.

 

“Daenerys.” Like a switch had been flipped, Viserys tone changed again, a whine  accompanying this time, though he still shot poisoned looks at Jon. “We need you to do it. If we are going to keep House Targaryen afloat, then I need you to make sacrifices.”

 

The body against him sagged slightly and Jon knew it was in defeat before she even spoke, the sting that she’d give in so easily to her brother settling over his skin.

 

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

Somehow, the disappointment in Jon’s face was worse than her brother’s poorly veiled threat. She stepped away from him, the sting of it singing across her skin, desperately needing to remind herself to keep her distance from him— no room for curiousity or sympathy when it came to Jon. He would see it in her eyes, in the way she fought to keep her chin tilted upwards, her gaze trained deliberately on his face and not on the mural of scars that lay beneath his crisp shirt.

 

Also, her brother was a jealous man.

 

Vis had despised sharing anything from an early age— toys, love, attention. She knew exactly what Jon was attempting to protect her from, his hackles raising anytime her brother moved within a few feet of her, but he didn’t understand. Vis could make both of their lives a living nightmare. He had a morbid fascination with pain of all kinds, and she didn’t like the dark look that he had fixed upon Jon, the cold calculation of what exactly he would do to gain his revenge for Jon’s posturing unclear for the moment. 

 

Dany knew from experience that whatever he was planning, it wouldn’t be good.

 

She needed to get them away from each other before the situation could escalate further, the enormity of what she had just agreed to settling in the pit of her stomach, the weight of it pulling her down into herself. Oberyn Martell was a brilliant designer, but he specialized in furs and exotics, everything that Rhaegar had fought to turn the tide against in fashion.

 

She was damned if she did, damned if she didn’t. And how could she choose the legacy over the only living family she had left, something that Viserys had lorded over her many a time before, knowing she would be cowed eventually. After all, how could a legacy continue unless they were able to keep House Targaryen in the black?

 

“Danyyyy.” His whine was pitiful, but he kept his distance for once, Jon’s presence at least serving as a deterrent in that regard.

 

_ Rhaegar, forgive me. _

 

_ “ _ I said, I’ll do it,” she snapped, her mind already whirling with the details of what needed to come next. Obviously, her routine was shot to all seven hells, no time for the carefully crafted diet that would put her body at the optimum weight and shape just in time for the pinnacle moment. It would be pointless to purge, one myth that she had been glad to let slide years ago, her abnormal height overlooked for her fame.

 

“You had best be on your way then,” Vis’ voice had taken on what Dany was sure he thought was a sly quality, and she braced herself unconsciously for a verbal strike. “You know how Oberyn treats his  _ ateliers _ if the models don’t look perfect. And since you should have been in fittings days ago…”

 

_ Godsdammit.  _ He was right, tension thrumming through her at the thought of the days of work these talented seamstresses would need to fly through in mere hours turning her stomach. Hopefully she could allay Oberyn’s vicious side, but they needed to leave,  _ now _ .

 

With one last poisonous look thrown in Jon’s direction, Vis laughed, his heinous chuckle bouncing off the walls of the study as he swept out, her own personal hurricane, wreaking havoc once more. 

 

She stole a look at Jon, his scowl focused solely on her, and she steeled her spine to face him. ‘“Get Jorah and Grey. I’ll find Missandei.” He shook his head stubbornly, and she stilled him by placing a hand on his arm. “Jon. I’m not asking. We’re already late.”

 

His jaw clenched, the ire in his eyes rising, and Dany braced herself for yet another lecture, another fight, already so very tired of it all. He surprised her, however, swallowing tightly before nodding. “We’ll meet you at the car in five minutes.”

 

He was gone before her whispered  _ thank you _ could cross her lips, and she had the almost insatiable urge to gather up her sketch pad and rip every drawing in it to shreds. Instead, she straightened her shoulders, and followed him out, calling for Missandei.

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

The car ride was tense and mostly silent as they made their way to the Tourney Grounds, only Jorah confident and relaxed, her reliable old bear. Even Missandei’s usually placid calmness had turned a bit jittery at the sudden changes in the schedule. “Thankfully, I had already moved the Board Meeting this morning, so nothing to worry about there.” 

 

Dany groaned, knowing that she would have hells to pay whenever they did meet next. “Please apologize profusely to them all, Administrator Varys and Septon Maynard especially— I know that we have much to discuss, and I will, of course, prioritize _ Rheagar’s Harp _ in the future.”

 

Missandei nodded, her thumbs working furiously as she typed out notes on her phone. “Already taken care of,” she said. “I told them what I always tell them whenever Viserys interferes. You were unable to say no.”

 

Dany blinked, the coldness in Missandei’s tone settling over her until the young woman looked up, a forced smile spreading over her lovely features. “Family comes first, after all.”

 

“Is this somethin’ I’m going to have to get used to?” Jon’s question drew her attention.

 

Before she had a chance to answer, Missandei cut across her. “Yes.”

 

“We’re here.” Grey’s voice filtered back from the front seat as the car drew to a stop. Missandei climbed out, already moving toward the hastily constructed edifice that Oberyn’s team of engineers and set designers had spent the last few weeks building across the Tourney Grounds.

 

Dany waited until Jorah’s hand appeared to help her climb out of the car, Jon closing ranks on her other side as they hurried across the open space and into the relative safety of the building, into the swirling chaos that was the pre-show.

 

“Daenerys!  _ Ñuha gevives _ !” Oberyn Martell conjured himself out of thin air, the cloud of oppressive cologne following him making her nose itch, his sudden appearance causing Jon to tense beside her. He was dressed just as flashily as his designs, his outfit of brightly colored silks and what seemed to be snake skins dripping off of his lean form in waves. 

 

_ Thank all the gods.  _ He was in a good mood today. She felt a smile fall over her face, all her apprehension fading away as she schooled her features for charm, and the game began.

 

“Have you discovered more talent for me, my dear?” Oberyn said, his dark eyes raking deliberately over Jon, and she fought off her surprise, an unexpected bristling feeling within her as Oberyn’s gaze took on a hungry quality. The man was a notorious flirt, and it felt as if he was equipped with X ray vision, able to see through the layers of clothing and directly through to the war zone of scars that lay across Jon’s chest. She rolled her eyes as Oberyn leaned over her outstretched hand, pressing a liquid kiss to her knuckles, the hairs of his mustache tickling her fingertips.

 

Still, the rules of society were finite, and she was nothing if not a true born Targaryen. A languid laugh fell from her lips as she turned to regard Jon thoughtfully. “I’m afraid that this one belongs solely to me, Oberyn.” She winked at him, but Jon grimaced, not in the mood for any of this shit. She couldn’t blame him. “Besides, he’s too little for runway— commercial at best, perhaps.”

 

“Ah, ah, ah— this from the world’s shortest runway model.” Oberyn purred. “You should know better than that, my dear. Glass gardens, et cetera. Still, all in all, a waste. I do hope that you are finding a good use for him, yes?”

 

“Enough, Oberyn.” Her voice took on a hard edge, done with these games at Jon’s expense, the blade of it deftly cutting through the uncomfortable tension. “Let’s talk about you— what do you have for me today?”

 

“Ever the consummate professional.” Oberyn threw Jon a subtle wink, and only years of discipline kept Dany from snapping at him, the dig burrowing under her skin. However, before she could launch a scathingly witty retort, Oberyn tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and led them further into the bowels of the cavernous room. 

 

“We were delighted to hear that none other than  _ the _ Daenerys Targaryen would be gracing us with her presence for our humble little show.” Missandei returned as Oberyn led them through the maze of people, and fell into step with Jon and Jorah behind them both, struggling with the items of clothing already tagged for her. Dany could have sworn she heard a snort of disbelief behind her, the other models they passed throwing her dark looks.

 

“False modesty does not become you, Oberyn,” she clucked her tongue at him, her mouth already burning with lies. “You and I both know that House Martell and your SandSnake line are the next big thing in fashion, and it behooves me to be involved in any way that I can, competitor or not.”  _ Or, because Viserys is a pompous idiot who doesn’t know the codes of his own House from his own ass. _

 

Oberyn grinned, somehow lulled by her obvious lie. “How I wish that you would tell that to  WETA .” 

 

“Now, how would that look for the face of House Targaryen and poster girl for sustainable fashion?”

 

Oberyn patted her hand. “You and I both know that is only for show.” Only Jon seemed to catch her perplexed look, the tension lines between her eyes deepening at Oberyn’s next words. “Sustainable fashion will never be able to stand up to the beauty of the natural world, and you know that House Martell does everything it can to ensure that our global footprint remains minimal.”

 

“Yes, yes, Oberyn, I’ve heard your pitch many a time.” She drew him to a stop, her eyes flashing, only for her argument to be curtailed before it could begin. An assistant with a headset stepped up, moving to whisper something urgently in Oberyn’s ear.

 

“Apologies, my dear, but we have a bit of a disturbance at the gates. I’m afraid the protestors have found us yet again.” He sighed dramatically. “I would like to see them face a red viper or shadowcat in the wild and then see how firmly they hold to their beliefs as they are being eaten alive. Alas…” he pulled Dany’s hand to his lips once more before stepping back with a slight bow. “I’ll see you at the after party, no? Perhaps then we can chat about further employment opportunities for your… help.”

 

Oberyn kissed the air in Jon’s direction, eyeing him hungrily before dropping her hand and stepping away. “Oberyn!” Her voice lashed like a whip, drawing him up short. “You never answered my question… What do you have for me today?”

 

Exasperation flowed over his face for only a moment before he stifled it, turning on his heel to face her fully once more. “I would never dream of putting the face of House Targaryen in anything other than faux furs and leathers, no matter what an abomination they are.”

 

Dany beamed at him in relief, her smile the first genuine moment of their entire exchange. “Thank you, my friend.”

 

Oberyn shook his head slowly, charmed in spite of himself. “Anything for you, my dear.” 

 

He was gone in a swirl of color, Jon taking a step back to avoid being slapped in the face by his myriad of scarves as Missandei scrambled to hang all of the items on Dany’s assigned rack, setting to work to press and steam as needed, no doubt the seamstresses and PA’s on their way to haphazardly fit her as best they could.

 

“Protesters?” Jon lifted an eyebrow in her direction as she shrugged out of her jacket, his eyes tracking down her body before he turned his gaze out to the rest of the bustling room. Dany stifled a snort at his obvious discomfort, her scrap of a shirt leaving little to the imagination. 

 

“House Martell doesn’t exactly share the same sustainable beliefs as House Targaryen, and they are often plagued by protestors from Westeros for the Ethical Treatment of Animals at their shows.” His gaze took on a thunderous overtone and Dany swallowed tightly, her guilt threatening to overtake her. “I know it’s not ideal, and this probably just made your job a lot harder, but look on the bright side— Oberyn always has scores of extra security because of it. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

 

He huffed out a frustrated breath, his eyes continually scanning the chaos around them. “I’m glad one of us is,” he said, his tone bereft of any emotion. Dany fought off a shiver of apprehension, taking in the cavernous room as well, trying to see it from his perspective.

 

What she saw gave her pause, her usual excitement for a fashion show dampening with a sudden feeling of dread coursing through her. She shook her head firmly, unwilling to give into his obvious ploy to try to frighten her, cow her into submission. “Neither of us had a choice here, Jon. I suggest we both get to work.” 

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

It was a fucking nightmare. 

 

Everything was laid out in the open, too many possibilities for attack, the area too big to be contained on such short notice and the people— Gods, there were people everywhere. And backstage was no better, he had discovered, teeth clenched in frustration, anger simmering at a low boil just below his skin.

 

Dodging someone running by him at full tilt with an armful of brightly colored fabric, he pulled her off to the side, ignoring her huff of impatience as he kept them on their feet, fully aware that by the end of the night, he and Daenerys would have pushed each other’s buttons to a near breaking point.

 

He had tried to get find a secure location for her to get ready, the chaos whirling around them, models, seamstresses, designers, PA’s, and more sprinting at full tilt, his need to get her  _ out _ almost overtaking him. She had laughed when he had suggested it, that frustratingly pretty mouth pursing at him as if he’d told her some sort of jest.

 

“Welcome to the world of fashion, Jon Snow.” Her eyes sparkled with an unspoken challenge. “We move fast, or the world moves on without us.”

 

Biting back a curse and the impulse to just tuck her under his arm and march them away from the madness, her temper be damned, he took a careful step back, allowing room for the seamstresses to begin fitting Daenerys for her first outfit and started checking his escape routes again, a careful map in his mind of where they were. He clenched his fists to relieve some tension, wishing for a brief moment that he had more men on the ground.

 

But he didn’t and they would have to hide her in plain sight, use the bustle of nonstop motion to keep her camouflaged in the mass of people. The prickle of claustrophobia was settling over his skin, a charge of static electricity as he pulled in Jorah and Grey.

 

“Here’s the plan.” Habit had him smoothing his jacket over his gun, checking to make sure it was secure as Jorah folded his arms over his chest, a stubborn set to his blue eyes, put off by the change in command. As if he gave a fuck what Jorah Mormont thought. “Grey, I want the car at the north east exit. Stay with it and don’t let anyone block our way out. Give me three different routes to the King’s Road.”

 

_ Gods, hopefully that would be enough. Hopefully they wouldn’t need to use it. _

 

“Jorah—“ He trailed off for a moment to look at the impossibly crowded area, checking his exits again one by one. “We need to keep that exit clear. We don’t have the manpower for more than one option, so we  _ have _ to be able to get through there.” The door led to the shortest route to the car, down a short stairwell before ending on the street. He’d had Grey check it as soon as they had gotten there.

 

He could feel the anticipation starting to roll through him, body going to high alert. “Once we start, Jorah will move through the crowd, keep an eye out for anyone suspicious, I’ll be backstage with Daenerys.” He had purposely pushed for keeping Daenerys there a secret, a surprise if Oberyn wanted to spin in that way, anything to lessen their chances of anything happening.

 

And when they got home… he and Daenerys would be sitting down to have another conversation about impromptu events.

 

With the plan clear, Jorah and Grey went to take care of their tasks, Jon turning back to move with Daenerys and Missandei even deeper into the cramped area as they moved quickly to get her into the ridiculous hair and makeup most of the models were sporting— more people and more clothing, both increasing in vibrancy and flamboyance. The heat was pressing, setting a wild edge to his sanity, the feeling starting to bubble as the smell of exotic furs tickled his nose, making his throat scratchy.

 

It was mind boggling, what should be normal could be perceived as a threat, and the second time he asked a seamstress to let him inspect her needles before they were set loose on Daenerys— making alterations to her assigned outfits— she snapped at him, his own temper spiking dangerously high. At wits’ end, he assigned the recently returned Jorah to  _ babysit _ — an immature last scathing remark to her— while he went to scout and scan, ignoring the fact that the other man would no doubt be more comfortable and probably enjoying Daenerys stepping in and out of clothing with nary a care to who was around her.

 

Taking a deep breath as he moved away, he took in the impossible obstacle of the runway. Backstage was enough to give him a headache, even with it as secured as he could get it, the commotion of activity helping as much as it hindered. But having her out there in front of everyone—  _ fuck _ . The tension was knotting up in his stomach, his mouth turning dry as he looked at it.

 

The runway was long, over 50 yards long, and he didn’t have the magic required to keep her shielded the whole length of it. Drawing in another mouthful of air and ignoring that it was shallower than the last, he knew that this was a perfect setup for the person after her. It would be dramatic and horrifying, killing her in front of friends, fans and competitors alike. A bold choice for a person who had already made daring attempts, no doubt getting more and more angry at each unsuccessful try.

 

He had failed, he realized, to make her see the danger she was in and that was clawing at him, knowing if everything went off here without a hitch, the battle between them would start, yet, he had to hope everything would be fine. The other outcome was unimaginable.

 

Adjusting the vest under his shirt, Jon ignored the glare of the stage hands doing a final lighting check, and jumped down to ground level, ducking under the runway and pulling the flashlight out of his pocket, checking for anything explosive, any sign of tampering with the raised flooring. Content in checking that off his list, he started his prowling around the perimeter, not able to shake the tingling of his senses, the morbid feeling that something was going to happen today. He loosened his tie, popping open the top button of his shirt, knowing he’d get a scolding from Missandei when her sharp eyes saw it. But he couldn’t  _ breathe _ , his rib cage feeling hindered, a headache brewing behind his eyes. 

 

Everything  _ should _ be fine, nobody in the audience was aware of her presence— still, he couldn’t quiet the part inside of himself screaming to get her out, that something was going to happen.

 

Turning to the workers setting up more stairs, he let out a bit of his frustration with biting demands they keep the seven exits clear, that they push people even farther back from the catwalk, walking along the distance of it again and hoping he was still as quick on his feet as he was ten years ago. 

 

Finally, he knew there was nothing else he could do, and turned to go backstage to settle in at her side. A body bumped into him, a dark look thrown his way as the man rushed by, startling him back to the moment and he closed his eyes for a just a second, clenched the fist that had started to shake, the noise of the crowd growing louder as they began to settle into their seats.

 

It was time.

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

The crowd loved her.

 

She had done two walks, hands set firmly on her hips, commanding every inch of that catwalk and if Jon hadn’t been so set on concentrating, he might have fallen under her thrall also. But, he was still perched just offstage in the wings, eyes narrowed against the nonstop camera flashes, the noise reaching all new levels. His stomach rolled with the energy, the long ago taste of gunpowder filling his mouth.

 

_ “You hold that fucking gate!” _

 

With a curse loud enough to cause the woman beside him to jump, he shook away from the pull of the memory, wincing as the roars peaked again, causing a brief feedback in his ear, sharp enough to make him bite his tongue. “Jorah, Grey, check?”

 

There was a brief pause, his eyes scanning as he held his breath. “In position.” Grey’s voice was steady in his ear and Jon could just barely make out the shape of him through the backstage monitors. Nodding to the PA he had commandeered, a compromise from the Stage Manager who had threatened to have him bodily removed from the property if he didn’t stay out of view, they started cycling through video feed again.

 

“Jorah?” His voice settled into a firm tone as he started scanning the video feeds again— the other man not visible at his post.

 

It was utter cacophony behind him, the pre-show nothing compared to the uproar of an honest to Gods fashion show. Out front it looked calm and cool, but as soon as the models left the stage they were sprinting to strip out of the clothes they were in, a small herd of people helping them get into new outfits. It was a frantic grab and take, shoes, pants, and bags being flung in the needed direction, music pulsing around them, making it hard to think.

 

A cold chill went up his spine despite the oppressing heat, settling into his fingers with a tingling, making it difficult to breathe. He gave his hands a little jiggle, trying to shake the feeling off and refrained from throwing out his elbows to make himself a little more space in the bodies around him. “Jorah?”

 

There was no answer again, and he cupped the back of his neck, trying to separate the tension of the job with the stress coming off everyone else in waves. He glanced over at Daenerys, her eyes cool and determined, the atmosphere not affecting her, least he could tell.

 

“Jorah!” It was sharper this time and he blinked again, trying to keep the bright lights out of his eyes, a sharp sound settling in his ears, his head, a small part of his mind wanting him to flinch, duck for cover.

 

“Do you want me to look for him?” Grey’s voice was steady and Jon wrestled in a deep breath, reminding himself that Oberyn’s security team was doing a admirable job, their hands full of angry protesters.

 

“No, I want you to stay there.” It was a command that offered no room for disobedience, the need for their exit staying clear as important as finding their other team member.

 

Another camera went off in his face and suddenly he couldn’t breathe, his pulse spiking high with adrenaline, the old familiar taste of copper in his mouth.

 

_ “Gods, Jon! They are trying to come through from underneath! They’re in the tunnels!”  _

 

_ The flashbang flared in his night vision goggles, blinding him and he tore them off, wiping the tears out of his burning eyes. He ignored the sounds of screaming men, he had to, the scent of sweat and fear, bodily fluids all clinging inside his nostrils. _

 

_ “Grenn, hold the gate! Whatever you do, hold that fucking gate!” _

 

“Is everything alright?”

 

Missandei’s voice was a slam to his system, air rushing back into his screaming lungs and his knees went shaky for a moment, the concerned look in her brown eyes making him want to cower. But she wasn’t talking about him, didn’t know the battle going on inside his own head and he bit his cheek hard enough to draw blood, to snap him back into the  _ now.  _ “Jorah is not answering. Hold Daenerys back.” 

 

“What?” She appeared, moving to take her position, an arm’s length away, struggling with the ties of her black thigh high boots. There was a whoosh in his ears, his mouth going dry and he blamed it on the situation and not as a result of her in the knee length stunningly white faux fur coat that was molded to her body, clingy and straining over her curves, open all the way way down and only held closed across her cleavage by a flimsy silver bar that looked like he could give it a flick and it would fall open, revealing her round breasts, show all of the fake leather micro mini that was hugging her arse, absurd amounts of silver jewelry dripping off every finger and her slim neck.

 

Tearing his eyes away, he fought down the rising dread, the feeling that they needed to abort  _ now.  _ “I don’t have contact with Jorah. You do not go out there until I have him.”

 

She was moving towards him, mouth turned down and he threw out his arm, catching her neatly, knowing her temper was rising, his concern over the missing member of their team more pressing then the wrath of the Dragon Queen.

 

“All clear.” Jorah’s voice came into his ear. “Thought I saw a pipe bomb but it was just someone with a hydro flask.”

 

Relief flooded his veins, muscles unclenching and he rolled his shoulders forward, letting his arm drop. “She’s going, be alert.”

 

The dark look she gave him as she rushed back was enough to burn his flesh. “Godsdammit, Jon! I missed my cue!”

 

It was all he could do to not give her back a snarky retort and roll his eyes, instead he moved his gaze back to the monitors, keeping a sharp watch on the crowd, trying to spot trouble before it started.

 

The heavy beat of the music was bleeding into him, echoing in his chest in perfect rhythm with her stomping feet, her swagger as she moved down the runway, a fierce dominatrix claiming all around as her supplicants. He could taste the change in the air, his eyes glued to her form with every step.

 

The music cut out.

 

He was already moving towards her, instinct pushing him forward as silence filled the space between confused people, the strobe lights continuing their strange dance. She was frozen into spot, eyes wide and it felt like someone had ahold of his throat, squeezing the breath out of him, the distance between them closing and if she would just turn towards him….

 

“TRAITOR BITCH!”

 

The unhinged scream came from the back of the room, aimed right at her and he was ten feet away, five feet and saw two quick muzzle flashes, the meaningful  _ pop-pop _ of a silencer and she was falling, his heart stopping as she clutched her chest.

 

Skidding the last few feet, she crashed into his arms, pupils dilated in fear and he was fucking furious at everything— at himself, at her— as he turned them, putting his back to the danger, terror grabbing him as he saw red all over, staining pale skin. 

 

“Fuck!” He scooped her up, her weight nothing as she grabbed his jacket with a pained whimper, shuddering breaths racking her small frame. “I’ve got you.” He started moving, dropping off the stage, letting the pandemonium of people carry him towards the exit. “Grey, get the car!” He hoped his voice was more confident then he felt, the urgency to get her to safety, then asses the damage almost blinding him.

 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Jorah’s voice was loud in his ear and Jon pulled up short as the crowd closed in, blocking him from the exit.

 

“Fuck!” Another noise made him look down, Daenerys’ face turning red with her own panic, fingernails digging into his neck. He needed to calm down. “Hey, I’ve got you. Daenerys. Breathe, okay, keep breathing.”

 

He looked to his right, hoping his last chance was not impassible, heart lurching when he saw the small fire door still available, only partially blockaded by speakers and lights. Adjusting his grip he ran them towards it, nimbly avoiding the taped down cords and wires, his elbow smashing something hard enough to vibrate into his fingers.

 

Then they were there and he threw himself into the crash bar, the force of it sending the door open and bouncing off the wall, slamming into them and he stumbled as she cried out, her grip tightening. 

 

That was a good sign, he told himself, sliding down the stairs to another door and they barged through it, sending him staggering into the brick wall, the outside air shockingly cold to his system. But the car was right there, Grey holding the door open with fear on his face as Jon all but tossed Daenerys onto the backseat, climbing in behind her.

 

“Get us to the hospital! Baelor’s Hospital, now!” The door slammed behind them, the car lurching forward, his weight thrown abruptly as he scrambled onto the narrow seat, her hips pinned between his knees as she gasped and grabbed at him, clawing wildly.

 

There was blood all over the front of her jacket. He could taste it in his mouth, the sound of his heart loud in his ears and her broken  _ Jon _ was like a fist in the guts. He had  _ failed _ , fuck, he had failed again, his scars burning and  _ he tripped over something soft— hidden in the dark, ducking down to touch it, feeling the warmth of body heat, familiar blue eyes, lifeless and accusing as they stared back at him. _

 

The shock of cold fingers around his wrist startled him, another set of blue eyes staring up at him, frightened but  _ alive _ and he ripped open her tattered coat, beads and stones from her necklace scattering over the floorboards as her necklace gave out under his frantic tearing, needing to find where she was shot, to stop the bleeding, because she would  _ survive. _

 

He stopped suddenly in confusion, no blood pouring from holes in her perfect skin, just a few smears between her breasts, two purple bruises over her heart— small, coin sized— and panic seized him again as he pulled her upright into his chest, hands spanning over her back, coming up empty, more unblemished skin. He ripped her arms out of the coat, shoving it away, his brain rapid firing as he tried to make sense of it.

 

Hands ran around her neck as she held onto the lapels of his jacket, her breath coming from behind clenched teeth as he found nothing, his hands running down over the slope of her shoulder, collarbone, then down, coming into contact with the red residue, thick and sticky, pungent between his fingers, a familiar smell.

 

_ Paint. _

 

He almost collapsed in relief, his fingers curling at the exact moment he realized he had a handful of her tits, nipples puckered beneath his palms, goosebumps rising along her skin along with her own broken breathing.

 

Jerking his hands back and losing his balance, he rolled off of her, landing on the floorboard hard enough to rattle his teeth together. “Paint, Daenerys, it’s paint.” His voice was hoarse as he forced himself up and she grabbed at his hands, words not quite registering yet. “Daenerys.” He squeezed her hands. “Breathe. I’ve got you. You’re fine.”

 

“Jon?” Her eyelashes blinked rapidly, her hand and his falling to her chest as she winced and hissed, poked at the bruise. “Paint?”

 

“You’re okay.” He propped himself up to lean against the seat, reassuring her, himself, he wasn’t sure. Hyper aware of her bared skin, he shrugged out of his jacket, intent of covering her up.

 

“You saved me.” Her voice was small, broken, his chest squeezing tight as he shook his head in denial and she grabbed his hand again, laying it flat over the bruises, her fingers laced over the top of his, the swell of her breast rising and falling under his palm with her breath. He could feel her heart racing, could count the beats, the urge to do so suddenly strong and he closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing the sensation.

 

“Jon?” 

 

Grey’s voice came from the front seat, startling him and he pulled his hand away gently, helping tuck her into his jacket, safe and secure. “We are good, Grey.” He let out a shaky breath and pulled her hair free of the collar, ducking down low so he could see her face, needing to see the color blooming in her cheeks. “You ready to go home?” Her quick nod had him closing his eyes for a moment, suddenly exhausted as adrenaline fled him and he collapsed back against the interior, letting her thread their hands together, grounding them both. “Take her home Grey, it’s been a long night.”

 

He closed his eyes, relief almost palpable but accompanied by the unwelcoming feeling of dread balling up in his insides as he realized what he needed to do next. It was time she saw the note.

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

Her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering.

 

The lights from other cars flashed by dimly as they drove. She had no idea where they were, the landmarks of King’s Landing blurred and hazy through the new security tinting Jon had ordered for all their vehicles. The motion of the car was making her feel sick to her stomach, the swirl of color flirting with the edge of disaster within her. She couldn’t seem to get her eyes to focus— her mind kept short circuiting on the images filling her brain— never settling, never giving her a moment to breathe, to gather herself, to escape.

 

The only constant was his warm, scarred hand in hers. His long fingers gripping her own hard enough to let her know that she had survived,  _ they  _ had survived— his pulse dancing wildly and erratically beneath her fingers. 

 

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the flashes, felt the sting of something sharp in her chest, driving her back into Jon’s waiting arms. She had expected to fall, expected to die, if she was being honest, and instead, he had caught her. Not neatly—  scooping her up in a heroic gesture like the songs of old, bravely standing between her and danger, but in a chaotic scramble of adrenaline and fear, the taste of something bitter lodged in her mouth and throat until she felt as if she would choke on it. His arms had locked around her like iron bands, and he had broken into a pelting run that had nearly jostled her out of his grip, only her own terror and adrenaline cramping her fingers as she nearly tore the collar from his jacket, desperate to hold on to him, to beg him to never let her fall, her panic filling her eyes and ears and mouth.

 

She’d have to ask him how they made it to the car, her mind a dull and lifeless void— black— like his eyes had been until he had pulled her upright in the backseat, his powerful thighs straddling her as he tore her arms out of the beautiful coat Oberyn and his team of  _ ateliers _ had no doubt spent months designing and painstakingly constructing, the gorgeous faux fox fur, soft and luxurious under her fingers, white now impossibly and forever streaked with red, a ruin of her own making.

 

She owed Oberyn an apology. She owed them all an apol— “Mi- Miss- Missandei!” She gasped, her fingernails digging into Jon’s palm. “Wh-where’s Missandei a-and J-orah?”

 

Jon’s pained grunt had her jerking her hand from his, the crescent shape indentions of her nails in his palm angry and red against his ghost-like pallor. His face looked hollow, somehow. Pasty and dark in the same turn, tight creases of concern across his brow, his firm mouth and plump, pouting lips pressed together into a thin grey line.

 

“Jorah has her, Miss Dany.” Grey’s voice filtered back to her from the front seat as Dany slumped in relief. “The City Watch has asked them to answer a few questions. He won’t let her out of his sight.”

 

Dany nodded vacantly, falling back into her seat with a hiss of pain. Jon’s face swam into view, somehow directly in front of her, kneeling between her legs on the floorboard, his strong hands coming to rest on her thighs as he searched her face. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”

 

She shook her head wildly, finding herself fascinated by his thick eyelashes, long and full and the envy of every woman he had ever dated, no doubt. “I j-ust w-want to go ho-home.” She hated how small her voice sounded, how weak she felt, how a particularly stiff breeze would likely take her out at the knees if she were to try to stand.

 

He continued to stare at her, his obvious concern chiseling away at the raised walls of her heart, although whether it was concern for her, or for the status of his job she couldn’t be certain. Appallingly, she could feel the burn of tears starting behind her eyes. She blinked wildly, trying to chase them away, biting her lip hard enough that she could taste blood.

 

“Fuck… Dany,” he breathed, his warm breath washing across her face, a moment of silence as she struggled to keep from falling completely apart, too broken for anyone to be able to reconstruct, something inside of her wanting to rant and wail and tear at herself and him, until nothing was left of either of them. 

 

“You’re in shock.” He gently pried her clenched fist open, placing something dry and soft into her palm before lifting her hand to the corner of her mouth. “Keep pressure here,” he murmured. “We’re almost home.”

 

She sucked in a deep breath, the high-pitched whistle sounding foreign and harsh to her ears, joining the chorus of clicking teeth and thundering pulse, a symphony of shock tearing out of her any way that it could. A shiver poured over her, her spine feeling as if it may ripple itself out of her body completely, and Jon pulled the lapels of his jacket more tightly around her, rubbing his hands up and down her arms briskly. “Grey, forget the routes. Get us to the manse.”

 

There was no reply over the sound of her hiccuping gasps, but Dany could feel the inertia pressing her body back into her seat as Grey accelerated, and let her head fall back against the headrest…

 

A hand on her shoulder brought her back to reality, Jon standing in the dim light of their garage, one of Viserys’ impractically sporty and garishly bright cars behind him. She blinked blearily at him, unsure if she had fallen asleep, lost consciousness, or if memory gaps were a side effect of stress and something she would just have to get used to. 

 

“Can you stand?” His voice was gentle, but his gaze was harrowed and haunted, and she felt herself startle at the guilt which crashed through her. This was all her fault—  she should have fought back harder against Viserys, she should have contacted Oberyn herself, explained the circumstances so they wouldn’t have been there at all. She should  _ never _ have done whatever it was that whoever was responsible for this said or thought that she had done.

 

She placed a trembling hand into Jon’s steady one, and let him gently lift her out of the car. His other hand caught her elbow before cradling her into his side, his arm settling around her waist, his scarred fingertips digging into the skin of her hip beneath his jacket, fighting to keep her upright on wobbly knees and an unbalanced gait. His cologne had taken on a slight sourness, his own adrenaline crash close at hand. 

 

Tyrion was waiting in the kitchen, his face as ashen as she assumed her own was. “Daenerys, thank the Gods.” 

 

He crossed to her, taking her hand in his own and giving it a reassuring pat before motioning to the maids behind him to come forward. Jon relinquished his hold on her as each woman took an arm to support her, ushering her from the room. She could hear their muted tones behind her, but couldn’t decipher their words as the maids led her to one of the guest suites on the ground floor, a large tub already full and bubbling, steam rising from the water.

 

“Tyrion thought you might like to try to relax a bit.” Dany nodded gratefully, dismissing the maids before they could help her undress, needing some time to try to claw her way back to sanity. She dropped onto the small vanity bench with a groan, her fingers shaking as she tried to untie her thigh high boots, finally succeeding in pulling them from her tired and aching feet, before standing and finally gathering her courage enough to look at herself in the mirror.

 

She was a fright— a ghoul of a woman, haunted into eternity. Her skin was waxy, tear tracks making their way through her makeup and down her face, the dark circles under her eyes pronounced and eerie. She peeled off the micro mini and her thong, both soaked through with sweat. Her fingers were shaking as she pried the rings off, the clanking setting her teeth on edge as the chunky silver bracelets followed. Her bottom lip was swollen where she had bitten through it, the crust of drying blood streaking down her chin, whatever Jon had pressed into her hand to stop the bleeding, lost. She hoped it hadn’t been anything important.

 

Finally, taking a deep breath and bracing herself, she unbuttoned Jon’s jacket, steeling herself by burying her nose into the lapel and breathing in his pine scented cologne, needing to borrow some of his strength for what came next. 

 

She let the jacket fall away.

 

She had a scratch along the length of her neck, thin and red and raised. The bruises were no more than an inch apart, violent and purple, the welts ribbed and perfectly round. The red paint splattered across her breasts and stomach looked like something out of a song, and before she knew it, she was sobbing, an overwhelming sense of something unintelligible settling in her chest like an anchor. She had been lucky— so incredibly lucky. If the bullets had been real—

 

Turning blindly, she felt her way to the tub, splashing gracelessly into it as she continued to weep, tears obscuring her vision as she felt about wildly for a washcloth and soap, scrubbing her midriff raw in an attempt to remove the offending paint from her skin. She had no idea how long she wept, only that eventually the storm of tears did subside, her eyes and nose swollen and red. The water around her had also taken on a pinkish tint. She pulled the stopper out of the tub, clearing away the dirty water before filling it once more, this time making sure the water was scalding, just as she liked it, wanting to feel the scorch and burn of it, if only to reassure herself that she was, indeed, still alive, her heart still beating. 

 

She lay back, allowing the heat to soak into her bones, her locked muscles finally relaxing as her hiccuping and sniffling subsided, clarity slowly returning to her once more. She slowly drew the washcloth over her abused skin, this time reveling in the feel of its softness, taking the time to properly wash her face, the remains of her makeup dissolving under her ministrations.

 

She owed Jon an apology. She’d been doing her best to make his life miserable over the last week, and instead of repaying her in kind, he had— and seemingly would continue to— thrown himself between her and whatever harm was intent on befalling her with no hesitation or doubt. She had no idea what she had done to inspire that kind of loyalty, but she was grateful. She owed him more than her thanks— she owed him her life.

 

Finding her determination once more, Dany drew herself out of the tub, the water cascading down her body, her hand drifting to the bruises. She wouldn’t bear outward scars from this encounter, only internal ones. It was enough.

 

She reached for the towel on the rack, wrapping it around herself snugly before gathering what was left of her clothing and folding it as neatly as she could. She had no idea if the Watch would need it for evidence, or if it would be able to be cleaned and returned to Oberyn, but she was sure someone would see to those details.

 

A soft knock sounded on the door, and she bade them enter, the maid bringing her  a c up of steaming nettle leaf tea , fleece lined pajamas, and warm fuzzy socks and slippers. “Mr. Snow said for you to keep warm.” 

 

Dany nodded, and changed quickly, only needing to call the maid back inside to help with the soft sleep shirt, her shoulder and chest too sore to pull it over her head on her own. Finally slipping her feet into her slippers, she took her tea, and made her way out into the hall, expecting to find Tyrion and Jon waiting for her, but instead everything appeared quiet and calm.

 

Perplexed, she headed toward Tyrion’s office, finally hearing their hushed voices beyond the door. She raised her hand to knock, but instead thought better of it, not ready to rehash the events of the evening yet. Instead, she turned on her heel and made her way around the corner to her study, leaving the door open as she gathered her sketchbook and settled onto the sofa, pulling her legs underneath her as she lost herself to her sketching.

 

Everything was a swirl of darkness and light on the page, her mind catching on the first flash of the gun, the strobe lights making everything and everyone blink in and out of existence until finally she realized she wasn’t drawing a dress, or even what had happened, but instead she was staring into a sketch of Jon’s eyes, a flash of light and mirth coming in at the smile lines at the corners.

 

A quiet knock sounded at the door, and she glanced up, the man in question looking more haggard and tired than she had ever seen, and she felt her heart give a dangerous thump. Some of his hair had come loose from his bun, and she was surprised to find that she longed to brush it back from his forehead, to find a way to help him bear some of this impossible weight. 

 

He cleared his throat as she quickly flipped her sketchbook closed setting it aside before he could catch a peek, her cheeks flooding with warmth under his scrutinizing gaze. “Can I come in?” His voice was rough— hoarse, as if he’d been shouting for hours. Maybe he had, by this time.

 

Dany nodded, running her fingers through her hair knowing she must still look an absolute fright. Her mouth was suddenly dry as Jon entered, closing the door behind him before settling himself heavily in a wingback chair to her right instead of on the sofa beside her. The distance felt like a chasm, somehow. 

 

“How are the bruises?” He placed an unmarked tube and his phone on the end table between them.

 

She grimaced, rolling her left shoulder as he winced in sympathy. “I’ve felt better.”

 

He nodded. “We should get some ice on that. It’ll help with the swelling.”

 

Dany studied her fingernails, the polish applied only hours earlier chipped, covered in flecks of red the bath water had neglected to remove. She took a deep breath. “Jon, I—“

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

She froze, her eyes flicking up to his, pain and embarrassment lingering there. “I shouldn’t have let you out on the runway, not after the scare with Jorah—“

 

“What? No, I—“

 

“And I’m sorry about what happened in the car. That was unprofessional, and it won’t happen again.”

 

Dany blinked.  _ What had happened in the car? _ The last she remembered before they got home was him checking her over, trying to ascertain how hurt she was, to stop the bleeding—  _ his hands, warm and sure roaming over her smooth skin, sliding down her back, over the slope of her shoulder, the column of her neck, the paint between her breasts, his hands gently sliding over them, her nipples tightening despite the pain, despite the shock, the urge to arch into his hands nearly overwhelming her— _

 

She was sure her face was a flaming red now as it all came roaring back. “Oh,” she murmured. “Um, it’s…” her voice trailed off. 

 

And then she had taken his hand and— her hand flew to her mouth, mortified.  _ Oh gods… _ “I mean, I had obviously, we both had— You know... Um.”  She swallowed tightly, reaching for her tea to give her something, anything to do with her hands.

 

“What I’m trying to say is that no apology is necessary,” she scrambled, desperately trying to regain some of her normal poise, anything to get him to stop looking at her like something fragile, and broken— “We’re both consenting adults after all.” She felt a ghost of a smile on her face, before his face changed, something dark and brooding passing over it.

 

He cleared his throat before shaking his head. “I brought you something.” He reached for the tube, tossing it lightly to her. She caught it with only a slight fumble, his light chuckle warming her through despite her embarrassment. “No idea what’s in it, but we used it in the Watch, and it works wonders on deep tissue bruises.”

 

“I didn’t know you were in the Night’s Watch,” she said, arching an eyebrow in curiosity.

 

“You never asked.”

 

Well, she had to give him that one. “Fair enough.”  Those scars hadn’t simply dropped upon his chest out of the open air, after all.  She took a breath, setting the tube back on the table between them, her fingers circling the rim of her cup. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes flickering from his to the tube and back again. “For that, and for today.”

 

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes flashing in the low light of the study. “You don’t have to thank me, Daenerys.”

 

_ Fuck… Dany.  _ She took another sip of her tea, another moment from the car surfacing in her scattered recollections. “I’m going to anyway.”

 

He shrugged. “It’s the job.”

 

_ Oh.  _ The silence stretched between them, neither of them quite able to tear their gaze from the other. Dany cleared her throat, and set the mug aside. “Right… Of course... Well, I guess I should be getting to—“

 

“There’s somethin’ else.” He sat up straight, his hands braced on his knees, his fingertips turning white under the pressure of his grip. He shook his head again before reaching for his phone. “I think it’s time you read the note this bastard left for you.”

 

She could feel herself shrinking back from his steady gaze, her head already shaking in protest before he reached out and settled his hand over hers, his warmth completely engulfing her. “It’s nothin’ you can’t handle. I honestly believe that,” he said gently, “—but it’s time you knew what you’re up against. What we’re all up against.”

 

He was staring at her, his eyes full of a fierce determination, his gaze wandering over her face, her lips as she wet them, finally giving her hand a quick squeeze as she found herself nodding. “Now, there’s two pictures. The first is the content of the note. That’s all you need to read.”

 

“But?” There was something he wasn’t saying.

 

He paused, his gaze dropping to his lap for a moment as he struggled to find the words. “But there is more to it than just the words. Only you can decide if you want to see it all. Either way you decide. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

 

She took a deep breath, searching his eyes, seeing nothing but the same spark of determination. “Ok,” she whispered.

 

He gave her hand a quick squeeze before releasing it, and placed his phone into her own. “The first pic is already up. Swipe right if you want to see the second.” She nodded again as she drew her hands into her lap, clutching his phone. “I’m right here if you need me.”

 

She closed her eyes for a moment, drawing a shaky breath into her lungs, and gathering what was left of her shredded courage around her. 

 

She couldn’t let them win. She wouldn’t.

 

Opening her eyes, she looked down at the picture on Jon’s phone, the swirl of the handwriting hard to decipher at times on the small screen.

_  
_ _ For every sin you saw and said nothing… _

 

_ For every lie from your pretty mouth that condemned another innocent to a fate worse than death… _

_  
_ _ For every cry from your lips when I find you… _

_  
_ _ Do you know what awaits you? Nothing… _

 

Her heart was pounding in her ears, the deafening crash of it drowning out everything else around her, everything save the calm, steadiness of his presence. She had the sudden urge to vomit, but fought to keep calm, to keep focused, to not let this evil person win— because they  _ were _ evil. Whoever could demand this of another human being had to be… Didn’t they?

 

“Daenerys?”

 

“Dany,” she said before she could stop herself, her eyes flickering up to his, confusion creeping into his gaze. “I liked it when you called me  _ Dany.” _

 

His eyes became large and round, a hint of a smile coming in at the edges, the same eyes that would now stare out of her sketchbook eternally. She gave him a small smile before taking another breath and swiping right, needing to see everything this shell of a person had in store for her, what trap lay in wait.

 

She recognized the photo from one of her Essos shoots, the Red Waste laying barren behind her. Her eyes had been gouged out in the photo, and she could feel her hands starting to tremble as she took in the detailed drawing of blood pouring from what was left of her eyes, ears, nose, and lips.

 

She cleared her throat before she handed the phone back to Jon, the tightness in her face expanding to her chest, her fingers finding the bruises under her shirt and rubbing at them as the pain seemed to spike in response. “They found that in my bed?” She whispered, and Jon nodded. She took a moment to absorb that information, fighting off a shudder. “Is it ok if I sleep in here tonight? Please?”

 

His mouth tightened before he stood, moving silently to the windows and pulling the new blackout shades he had installed earlier in the week down over all of the windows. Without a word, he returned to the chair he’d been sitting in, dragging it over to the doorway to the study, placing himself between her and any harm that could possibly come through that door.

 

She turned on the small lamp on the end table beside her as Jon reached for the overhead light, dousing it quickly. She pulled a chenille blanket from the back of the couch and spread it over her, tucking her hands beneath her chin as she settled back against the throw pillows, careful to keep her weight off her bruised side. The silence spread between them, lengthening and thickening with weight as the minutes ticked by. 

 

“Jon?”

 

“Aye?”

 

“I’m sorry too.”  _ For being difficult. For being stubborn. For being afraid. For putting you at risk too. “ _ For everything.”

 

“Oh, Dany,” he breathed. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

 

~*~*~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ñuha gevives - My beauty


	5. For every win someone must fail, but there comes a point when we exhale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do they ever go away?” The question escaped before she knew she was going to ask it, the shadows still hovering too close to her tonight.
> 
> He froze, the roughened fingers of his burnt hand twitching in her own. “Do what ever go away?” He asked carefully, his eyes shifting over her face, the scrutiny with which he examined her making her heart ache for him as well as think she may have overstepped the tiniest bit.
> 
> Be brave. “The nightmares,” she said, fighting the urge to look anywhere but him, to not let him see the depths of her dread. Instead, she forced herself to look squarely into his warm brown eyes, more thankful than she could express to see them and not gaping crimson holes, steeling herself as his brow creased with the first hint of a frown. “We’ve been sharing a room for three nights now. You mumble in your sleep sometimes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ - mentions of abuse— physical and emotional, and violence against women** , so please take care of yourselves and proceed with a bit of caution.
> 
> We are also now at a lime on the Citrus Scale 😉 
> 
> As always— there are 2 people that Mel and I could not do this without— the first being our AMAZING beta, Alice. She worked double hard on this chapter, pulling Mel and I out of a bit of a spiral towards the end, and keeping us on track throughout the many (MANY) interesting spellings of “Rhaegar” (I can’t spell his name to save my fucking life). She makes us better, and always, ALWAYS is such an encouragement. We love you, lady ❤️ 
> 
> And to JW— the art you create for us for every chapter is breathtaking (I’m sorry we had to take the sweatpants away, LOL), and helps to further inspire us. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> Mel— ❤️ God— everyone go get a co-writer immediately. It’s seriously the best, and so is she. Brain Twins for life.

 

~*~*~

 

She had never paid much attention to his arms, it was always his hands that drew her focus— warrior’s hands, full of scars and calluses and strength. Hands that could be gentle or forceful depending on the situation, the need. She had been an idiot; she knew that now. Those arms, completely capable of bearing the weight of the sky, closed around her shoulders, swept under her knees, scooping her up to cradle her into his sculpted chest as if she weighed nothing.

 

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his breath puffing against her cheek, his lips gently brushing against her earlobe, a shiver of need thrumming through her as her heart pounded in anticipation. Her fingers wound themselves into the curls at the nape of his neck, the luxuriously silky strands slipping through them as he groaned in appreciation.

 

In his eagerness, he slammed through the heavy door and her foot caught against the doorframe, tumbling them into the brick wall on the other side of it. The stairwell seemed to swallow all other sounds— nothing audible except for the thundering of her pulse in her ears, the sound of his labored breathing as he set her on her feet, his hips driving into her as he backed her up against the wall, the bricks rough against her back as he nosed through the hair at the nape of her neck before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the spot where her neck and shoulder joined. His teeth sunk in as she gasped— his hot, wet tongue darting out to soothe and taste as her knees buckled. Only her fingers clenched in his collar kept her on her feet as he dragged his teeth down to her collarbone, tongue tracing a path across her heaving chest, dancing delicately into the valley of her breasts.

 

Not to be undone, she ground her hips into his as she ripped his jacket from his shoulders, shoving the offending fabric as far down as it would go. The hardened outline of his ready cock already strained against the seam of his pants, her extremely short skirt irrelevant as she hooked a thigh over his hip, a hiss of pain escaping her lips as his teeth latched onto the skin in the divet of her collarbone in perfect time with his pelvic thrust. The fabric of his black jeans scraped across her already soaked center, and a wanton moan escaped her lips, her thong doing little to keep the well of her desire from soaking into his leg.

 

“Jon,  _ please— _ ” she was begging, but didn't care, her fingers tightening in his hair. He was driving her wild, and hadn’t even properly kissed her yet. Nor would he, it seemed— scooping her up into those gods-like arms once more, the jump of his bicep against her skin making her mouth water, and giving her time to put her own clever tongue to use. The pounding of his pulse under his jaw was a mouth-watering treat. She suckled and groaned against his neck, nuzzling under his jaw with delicate licks and nips until the world tilted, and suddenly she was on her back in the car, her fingers grasping at his muscled thighs straddling her, pinning her beneath him.

 

His eyes were black with desire as his fingers found the silver bar of her white coat, the scarred skin of his right hand teasing under the coat already— tormenting, feather light touches across her peaked nipple, designed to drive her to the brink as she tried to push her way up onto her elbows, a willing offering, her breasts arching, aching for his touch.

 

“ _ Fuck… _ Dany…” a flick of his fingers, and her coat fell away, his gaze hungrily taking in her breasts, her puckered and purpled nipples begging for his fingers, lips, and tongue to sample all that she had to offer. She could feel the beating of her heart throbbing down to her cunt, a streak of want and desire pulsing through her as he bent his head, sucking her breast into his wet mouth, his tongue swirling, his beard chafing at her sensitive skin as she groaned in encouragement.

 

She grasped his shirt and yanked it over his head, needing to feel skin beneath her grasping fingertips, his snarl of displeasure at being parted from his feast matching hers as they both struggled upright. Her fingers grazed his scars, her own talented tongue moving to map the contours of them, his hands buried in her hair to keep her close, the tangy taste of his sweat overwhelming her with the need to consume all that he would give. Her cunt was pulsing in perfect time to the thunder of his heartbeat under her touch, her hands fumbling— clumsy with need— for the buckles at his waist.

 

He stiffened as her fingers brushed over his cock, lost in a thrall of ecstasy. She peered up at him through lidded eyes, wanting to absorb his pleasure, feast upon it for days to come, but instead of his normally warm brown eyes, she saw nothing but gaping holes of scarlet.

 

She screamed, scrambling back from him, her shoulders still locked in his embrace as the blood poured from his ears, nose, and lips, his body falling lifelessly over her, trapping her under his lithe form, now heavy with death.

 

_ Nothing… _

 

The whisper flowed eerily over her, a flash of pain and a line of red swept over her chest. Her fingers trembled as she touched it, coming away sticky with her own blood.

 

_ You said nothing… _

 

Another slash across her belly, the wound deep and gaping and she scrabbled at it, trying to keep it closed, the blood splashing over her fingers, staining her hands as she screamed again, the panic engulfing her.

 

_ You did nothing… _

 

A flash across her face this time, red filling her eyes and nose and mouth until she couldn’t breathe, Jon’s body pinning her, keeping her helpless, leaving her vulnerable and alone.

 

_ Do you know what awaits you… _

 

_ Nothing. _

 

~*~*~

 

She came awake with a start, Jon’s hand lingering on her uninjured shoulder, lamp on the end table already on, lesson learned from last night’s eventful awakening and the new bruise he sported just along his left cheekbone. He had explained it away to Tyrion as a late blooming contusion from the fire door at Oberyn’s show, but she knew the truth— unable to escape the terror lurking in her dreams and unable to see who was shaking her in the dark she had struck out blindly, the heel of her palm landing a glancing blow across his unfairly beautiful face.

 

Even that had been preferable to the first night, the unearthly shrieking she heard in her dreams had turned out to be sounds from her own locked throat. The pain pulsing through the bruises at her breast had been so sudden and severe that she had bolted from the study and down the hall, barely making it to the bathroom before the meager contents of her stomach had violently emptied themselves into the bathtub, unable to make it to the toilet in time.

 

She had opened the door a short time later, embarrassment coloring her features as she found Jon leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door, a glass of water, willowbark tabs, and an ice pack in hand, concern and understanding in his eyes.

 

They hadn’t spoken much past reassurances either time. It had been enough to know that he was there— no pity to be seen, just a gentleness under the cover of darkness. His presence had been enough to suppress the black mark the attack had embedded in her soul, though sleep would prove to evade her the rest of both nights.

 

Tonight, however, was different.

 

She had never seen  _ him _ die in her other dreams. The unspeakable horrors she saw in the murky netherworld of sleep were always aimed solely at her. She didn’t know how to describe the paralysis racing through her, the thought of him giving his life for hers unimaginable, unwanted, and unfathomable. He didn’t deserve to have his life cut off at the knees because of a lunatic, and he must have a family, somewhere— someone who loved him, cherished him... They didn’t deserve to have him violently ripped away from them, all because of her. 

 

His eyes were black in the low light, and she felt a jolt straight through her chest that had nothing to do with her injury. She tried to steer her mind away from all of the other activities in her dream, but was unsuccessful— her mouth dry, her eyes drifting to the outline of his sculpted pec under his t-shirt, the darkness of his nipples visible through the thin, white fabric, along with the raised, puckered skin of his scars.

 

She hadn’t thought about anyone that way since Daario, and especially not in the years since her brother died at least. She had been too wrapped up in her own grief, in helping Viserys recover and rebuild House Targaryen from Rhaegar's ashes. There hadn’t been  _ time _ for anything of the sort. And now— here she was at the worst possible moment, brought low by an silent specter intent upon her death...

 

Her hand went to Jon’s wrist, unable to help herself from gripping it tightly as her chest heaved, her breath struggling to return to normal as she fought to untangle her legs from the blanket holding her feet prisoner, no doubt lending to her paralysis in the dream. He offered his other hand, and she took it, allowing him to pull her upright on the sofa.

 

“Thanks for not hittin’ me this time.”

 

His quiet statement brought an unexpected chuckle to her lips, another zing racing through her chest at the relief it brought, unlocking her tongue as she kicked the blanket away and tucked her legs under her, making room for him beside her. She hoped he would accept her silent invitation, unable to chase away the yearning and horror still lingering from the dream. 

 

He kept his distance though, kneeling before her on the floor, only his hand still captured in her own, her fingers clenched around his, unwilling or unable to let go, she didn’t know.

 

“Do they ever go away?” The question escaped before she knew she was going to ask it, the shadows still hovering too close to her tonight.

 

He froze, the roughened fingers of his burnt hand twitching in her own. “Do what ever go away?” He asked carefully, his eyes shifting over her face, the scrutiny with which he examined her making her heart ache for him as well as think she may have overstepped the tiniest bit.

 

_ Be brave.  _ “The nightmares,” she said, fighting the urge to look anywhere but him, to not let him see the depths of her dread. Instead, she forced herself to look squarely into his warm brown eyes, more thankful than she could express to see them and not gaping crimson holes, steeling herself as his brow creased with the first hint of a frown. “We’ve been sharing a room for three nights now. You mumble in your sleep sometimes.”

 

The grip he had on her hand was turning painful although she doubted he was even aware of it, her reluctance to release him roaring to life within her still racing blood, the memory and feel of that scarred hand upon her heated skin fresh and dangerous. “You’re almost always awake when I am,” she couldn’t help but stroke a finger down the soft skin of his inner wrist, tracing the pulse point gently. “Do you ever sleep?”

 

She realized her statement’s other implication the second the words left her lips, 

feeling her cheeks and chest flush deeply, but for once Jon seemed to be lost to himself. She was grateful, silently scolding herself as she commanded her hand to let go of his, but instead found her traitorous fingers doing the complete opposite, tugging lightly until he all but collapsed onto the couch beside her.

 

~*~*~

 

He could feel the heat from her body as the comfort of the couch enveloped him, her cozy nest of the last three nights tempting and pulling, just as she had on his hand, letting himself be moved off the floor where he had settled to waken her, another nightmare making her twist and turn. 

 

“No, I don’t sleep much.” Gods, he was tired, his body heavy and mind thick, the air around them seeming to pause as he let his head roll to the back of the couch, the confession burning down his throat, the feeling of showing his soft underbelly foreign and uncomfortable. 

 

There should be a line between them, a small part of his brain was reminding him, a barrier of reinforced steel kept firmly in place, but currently it seemed more like a wall made of sand, the encroaching tide wearing it slowly away as she shifted, petite body in his space, warm hand still in his. 

 

“I feel like that has a lot to do with these?” Gentle fingers touched a scar, the feeling muffled by fabric, but it was still a jolt to his system, a shock to the cold that lived there, the touch making him want to shake it off and curl into himself, another part screaming for him to take it, let her do as she pleased.

 

“Aye.” It was a choked answer, bitter with the taste of betrayal and sharp with nerves. She was going to ask him, he knew, to share if able, to hear his own haunted memories to help herself sort out her own.  There was still an urge to refuse, to push her away and retreat to the sanctuary of the chair he’d taken up since she’d moved in her study.

 

But he couldn’t do that, the night of the fashion show still stuck at the front of his mind, the  _ what if’s  _ replaying over and over until it was a knot of nausea in his stomach. If every time he closed his eyes he could imagine her laying broken and bloody on that catwalk, then certainly she re-lived it over and over again.

 

Did she realize how he had failed her?

 

“You didn’t answer.” There was a softness to her words, a caution to her pushing. “Do you think it will ever go away?”

 

The phantom echo of a cold burn prickled his chest, the jagged edges of roughly put back together skin tingling in awareness and his hand moved up to the mark above his heart, fingers tangling with hers, a yearning crawling through his chest. “I don’t have that answer.”

 

“Or maybe it’s a no and you don’t want to tell me.” The blue eyes closed, and he sighed in relief, certain she could see down to his chipped core, his breath catching in the next moment as her head dropped down to his shoulder, silver hair tickling his neck. “What happened to you up there? Will you tell me that?”

 

Everything inside him froze, panic flooding his veins, voices coming back to him asking him if he was okay, if he wanted to talk it out, even those chilling tones of men he had lived with, day after day that turned against him so easily. But she didn’t know the previous Jon, wouldn’t look at him with that trace of pity or regret that everyone else did. No, she only knew this Jon, the one who had been broken and was slowly piecing himself back together.

 

“I should have been wearing my vest that night.” He cleared his throat, Daenerys’ head lifting enough he could see her in his peripheral vision, confusion in the wrinkle of her brow. He could see the dark circles staining under her eyes, guilt eating slowly away at him. “But I was on our side of the Wall, in our own barracks…I thought I’d be fine.” A twitch of his hand had him grabbing at the arm of the couch, stuffing giving way under his grip.

 

“Peace talks with the Freefolk. Gods, everyone had an opinion on it.” He certainly did, right up until he made it to the Watch, until he was ranging in the far north. “Some people were- are- against it. They made their choice years and years ago and now they must live with it.”

 

He was sure her mind was spinning with questions, her curious nature piqued but she was staying quiet, her weight pressing further and further into him, grounding him there, knowing if she interrupted, his words would dry up and disappear. “There had been rumors going around, sworn brother’s furious that the Lord Commander would even entertain such ideas, that he would present it to the counsel of Westeros. Assassination talks.” He risked looking down into wide eyes, his heart catching and stumbling at the pain in them, wondered if they were a mirror image of his own.

 

“The LC told me that we couldn’t hide because of it, that we had a job to do, a duty that must be fulfilled.” He had to close his eyes, his throat feeling rough, the weariness of those eight years making him feel brittle. “I thought I had enough men out there to prevent anything from happening. I was naive enough to not fully believe our men would actually do it.”

 

His skin felt too tight all of a sudden, his ribs not willing to expand for a breath and he choked for a moment, an arm looping through his, pulling him out of reach of the panic attack. His thumb brushed over the back of her knuckles in appreciation, savoring the softness of her skin. 

 

“I was wrong.” It left him in an exhale, he had been so very  _ wrong _ in thinking that it was all just a jest, that loyalty had to count for  _ something.  _ “The very men I had served with, ate dinners with, bled with, tried to kill me to get through to our Lord Commander.” 

 

“That’s terrible.” Horror colored her voice and he almost shuddered to hear it but he was trying desperately to keep his teeth from chattering together. 

 

“It felt a little undeserved.” He couldn’t help but give a faint smile at her huff of air, not at all amused by his jest, his body once again relaxing with hers still tight against him. 

 

“I hope they didn’t get away with it.” She drew the blanket up around her shoulders, the soft smell of her skin and shampoo invading his senses, the prickle of awareness laying over his skin. 

 

“They did not.” He tried not to think about it, the hours in court, his medical records being shifted through by strangers. The fates of the those men, the hate and sorrow that kept him in its twisted web.

 

Silence filled the room again, strangely comfortable despite his confessions, her hand turning over so his thumb could continue its mindless sweeping of her palm. It was too familiar, too intimate and he didn’t want to pull away but instead bask in the warmth of it, the feeling foreign and yet welcome, wanted, something he could easily become addicted to.

 

“How long ago did it happen?”

 

“A year ago.” Clearing his throat, he gave a little shake of his head in self deprecation. “If I’m not over that, then I don’t think you need to worry about three nights sleeping in here.”

 

Sharp nails dug into his hand, her fingers closing over his to stop his movement, disapproval coloring her tone.“I don’t think there’s a timeframe on how long it takes us to get over a trauma.”

 

A warmth filled his chest, like sun creeping through rain clouds, a crack of light filling the dark and he craned his neck look down at her, cheek pressed firmly to his arm, letting his heart race in admiration. “You are a wise woman, Dany.”

 

Something flashed through her eyes for a moment before her lashes fluttered, his gut tightening in reaction, that lush mouth curling with the compliment and he found he was unable to look away from her face, a willing prisoner as she shifted slowly, testing his reaction as she moved to her knees. 

 

Lust hit him like a jolt of electricity, lungs forgetting to work as her eyebrows raised, a sharp look keeping him pinned to the couch, her body leaning, sleep shirt riding up to expose pale skin on her back, so close and so easily accessible, his mind stalling as she reached across him in slow motion, a hand landing on his thigh to keep herself balanced, the room going dark with the click of the light.

 

He burned as she settled right back where she had been, arm threading back through his, fingers tapping lightly on his wrist until he caught them, trapping them with his own. It was need gathering in his veins, awakening suddenly and with a hard bite as she fussed with the blanket a little more, then settling down with a sigh.

 

“Goodnight Jon.”

 

Closing his eyes, he absorbed the sensations, let himself  _ feel _ them. “‘Night, Dany.”

 

~*~*~

 

He was gone when she jerked awake the next morning, sunlight bleeding around the edges of the blackout shades, chasing away the shadows stalking her into wakefulness. She took a deep breath, waiting for her heart to stop pounding, amazed that she had been able to fall back asleep after the first dream. After his story. 

 

After his touch.

 

It had almost been too much to bear— watching him struggle for breath and words, the blank pain in his eyes breaking her already fragile heart. In those moments, she would have given anything to make him feel whole again. She found she couldn’t help herself as she pressed closer and closer to him, the mindless sweeping of his thumb across her skin driving her almost insane with barely controlled want. She wanted to map his scars with her fingers, feel him relax beneath her touch. She wanted to absorb all of his pain— this man who had already given so much of himself so selflessly for others. She had to wonder if he ever extended that level of regard to himself as well. Somehow she doubted it.

 

She didn’t know how long they had rested together, her attraction and limbs tangled up hopelessly in him. She knew sleep still hadn’t come easily to either of them, hours of shared silence before the sound of Jon’s steady heartbeat finally pulled her into a restless slumber, unsure if the feeling of his fingers brushing through her hair was dream or memory or wishful thinking.

 

She also needed to be fucking careful. If there was one thing Jon’s story proved, it was easily the fact that he wouldn’t hesitate to give his own life for another’s. A hero, in every true sense of the word. She really shouldn’t be entertaining any of these feelings at all-- not at a time like this, her life turned inside out in every way possible.

 

A gentle knock on the door had her shooting upright, her fingers combing through her hair, trying to put herself back together as if he hadn’t already seen her at her worst. “Come in,” she called out, standing and shaking out the blanket he must have tucked around her before he stepped out, folding it in quarters and throwing if over the back of the sofa.

 

She turned with a smile as the door opened, only to have it fall as Missandei stepped through. “Oh,” she said.

 

“Good morning to you too,” Missandei’s smirk was pulling at the corners of her mouth as she tucked her ever present phone into the pocket of her blazer. “Did you have a better night?” Her shrewd gaze passed over the study, flitting from the sketch pad tucked under the sofa to the empty water glasses and mugs of half finished tea on the end table along with Jon’s watch. He must have forgotten to put it back on this morning.

 

Dany scrambled to pick up after herself, something like shame spiraling through her for no reason she could identify. Missandei knew her habits better than anyone, but for some reason, the intimacy of sharing her space with anyone other than Jon seemed like an intrusion. Her fingers lingered on the watch as Missandei cleared her throat, and she strapped it around her own wrist, pulling the band to the smallest catch. It was too big for her slim wrist, truly, but she felt better with it on, adjusting the case of it before turning to face her friend.

 

“Not really,” she felt the lie fall from her lips, some part of her hesitant to share the growing bond with anyone, even Missandei. “But, I did manage not to vomit last night, so… Progress?”

 

Missandei’s smile grew wider, seeing straight through to the heart of her, but she said nothing, merely closing her lips over her teeth as she nodded. “Mmmhmmm.”

 

“Stop that,” Dany blushed, moving to her desk to put her sketchbook away, an embarrassing amount of pages now full of  _ him _ , his eyes, his hands, the scar above his heart that he rubbed when he got stressed— etched into her memory along with any number of other tiny, scattered moments.

 

Missandei’s light laugh fell over her as the taller woman helped gather up the dishes. “I didn’t say anything.”

 

“For someone not saying anything, you’re certainly saying it loudly.” Dany stuck her tongue out at her before shoving the desk drawer shut, her secrets safe inside of the desk and locked within her heart.

 

Missandei pursed her lips in response. “All I’m saying is that you both seem to have… gotten closer than any of us would have expected, and in so short a time.”

 

“He saved my life, Dei.”

 

“He kept you from getting more paint on you.” One of her sculpted, perfect eyebrows raised. “We don’t want you losing perspective— I don’t want you to get hurt… not by him.”

 

Dany closed her eyes, knowing that what Missandei was saying had some truth to it, and yet… She couldn’t know what Dany instinctively knew in her heart— that Jon would rather throw himself to the wolves before allowing anyone to hurt her, possibly even including himself. “I’m a big girl,” she said softly. “I can take care of myself.”

 

Missandei simply stared at her, allowing the silence to grow before she nodded. “And yet, here I am— keeping you to your ever changing schedule. A thankless job, by the way.”

 

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s been a nightmare lately, but you know as well as I do how Vis can be.”

 

“I wasn’t talking about Vis.” Missandei set the cups in her hands down to fish her phone out of her pocket. “Lord Commander Slynt has returned from his weekend away in Pentos, and Jon cancelled your day at Rhaegar's Harp to accommodate him—”

 

“Wait— he did what?” Dany snapped to attention, her heart suddenly pulsing. “We have those kids on schedules, they need stability, and they’re expecting us to be there.”

 

She was out the door and down the hall before Missandei could protest, her bare feet slapping against the floor as Dei followed behind her. “It’s not that ba—”

 

Dany knocked on Jon’s office door before she could get much further, ignoring the trill that raced through her breast as the door opened almost before she had finished knocking. He had pulled his hair back this morning, those gorgeous curls restrained in a small bun at the back of his head, still wet from the shower, and her mouth went dry.

 

“Saw you comin’,” he nodded his head over his shoulder to the mountain of screens across his desk and credenza, camera angles showing pictures from all over the house and grounds, all major points of entry covered.

 

She cleared her throat, dragging her eyes away from his plump lips, his hair pulled back somehow making them look even more enticing, and  _ gods _ — she was in trouble. “Morning,” she squeaked, Missandei’s low laugh behind her making her turn to shoot her  _ former  _ friend a warning glare. “What’s this I hear about you cancelling my day at Rhaegar's Harp tomorrow?”

 

Dei’s laugh got louder. “She didn’t give me a chance to explain.”

 

Those godsdamned lips of his quirked in amusement, warm brown eyes sweeping over the crown of her head to take in Missandei, now completely lost to her amusement. 

 

“Explain what?” Dany folded her arms across her chest, suddenly very aware of the fact that she was still in her pajamas, wearing no bra, hair still a snarled mess, and morning breath bad enough to stun a dragon.

 

His low rumble of a laugh settled in her chest, vibrating through her and she arched an eyebrow, waiting for the two of them to be done with their fun at her expense. “I didn’t cancel it,” he shrugged. “I moved it to today. We’re supposed to leave in an hour.”

 

“But, the kids won’t be expecting me today, and I don’t want to throw them off— they need structure, and—” She could have sworn he almost put a finger over her lips, his hand raising gently before he shook it out, dropping it back down to his side.

 

“I know, but your schedule is too predictable. We had to change it up.” Warm brown eyes searched hers, seeking to reassure.  “Besides, kids are resilient. They’ll just be happy to see you.”

 

She blinked as Missandei grasped her arm, slowly pulling her away from the door and him. “I think it’s time we get you into some clothes that are not going to put you on the worst dressed lists, huh?”

 

She let herself be pulled away, Jon’s amused half smile as she went doing strange things to her powers of reason. “I’ll want my watch back, eventually.” His voice followed her down the hall.

 

She felt the smile spread slowly across her features, her hand going to her wrist before shooting him a hungry look over her shoulder, eyebrow arched playfully. “Come and get it. I dare you.”

 

~*~*~

 

The dappled sunlight fell through the trees of the courtyard, a relaxed smile spreading over Dany’s face at the sound of the joyous shrieking of the children around her. She and Missandei had set up a small face painting station, even convincing Irri to tag along in case any of the older girls wanted a more classic makeup lesson, but they needn’t have worried. It seemed as if face paint brought out the inner child in almost everyone, most of the kids’ faces now sporting technicolor butterflies, prancing stallions, and one very impressive fire breathing dragon, if she did say so herself.

 

Now, it was the kids’ turn, Dany laying in the soft grass, not caring one whit if she got grass stains on her designer jeans or red, off the shoulder top. One of the younger girls attempted a design on her face under Missandei’s watchful eye and careful instruction. 

 

“Heads up!” The call came along with the stampede of twenty pairs of feet, and Dany squinted against the sunlight trying to spot whatever was sure to be rushing at her face. Sure enough, the red rubber ball Grey and Jorah had found to start a game of kickball was coming straight toward her, if the squeals from Dei and Irri were any indication. She sat up quickly as little Allicia ran for cover, her arms over her head, paint forgotten.

 

She caught the ball neatly, the slap of her palms against the ribbing on the ball echoing throughout the courtyard, the smell of the rubber taking her back to simpler, summer days. All the kids cheered as she stood up, and she offered a small curtsy. “Out!” She called, and a chorus of  _ ooohs  _ greeted her as she tossed the ball to the nearest little boy.

 

“DID YOU HEAR THAT, MR. JON? Miss Dany got you  _ out _ !” Another chorus of  _ ooohs  _ from the infield as Jon halted his easy jog around second base, sweat pants hanging loose around his narrow hips, the strip of skin visible along his abdomen making her toes curl into the grass. His smile was only broken by an exaggerated kick in the dirt, and the thud that ran through her as it returned and did something dangerous to her insides.

 

“Ah, man! I guess she did,” he said, his hand coming to rest on Dickon’s brown hair, giving it a good ruffle.

 

A laugh fell from her lips before she could help herself. “And don’t you forget it either.” She bent down to gather the scattered paint supplies. “I guess it’s time to concede the field.”

 

“Go on,” Jon nodded to Dickon. “Let me know when we have three outs so I can help Miss Dany clean up.”

 

Dickon squinted up at them both. “My dad used to say that a man only cleans up for a lady if he wants to buy power tools.”

 

Dany bit her lip, trying unsuccessfully to keep her mirth hidden as Jon’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, you know what I think?”

 

“What?”

 

“I think that a man can always show kindness to a lady, no matter why or when, and sometimes helping her clean up can be very kind.” That thudding in her chest was back as Dickon considered Jon’s quiet words.

 

“Maaaaaybe,” he said, thoroughly unconvinced, and this time Dany did laugh, reaching out to give the little boy a quick cuddle, pressing a kiss to his chubby little cheek. 

 

“Go on back to the game— we can debate the finer points of non-toxic masculinity another time.” Dickon ran off, holding the ball aloft in victory and Dany turned to Jon, a smile spreading across her face. “That was good!”

 

He blushed, the tips of his ears turning pink under her praise, kneeling to collect the paint supplies scattered across the lawn. “My youngest brother was about his age.”

 

The past tense resounded in her chest, yet another scoop of her heart hollowed out, lost hopelessly to him. Grief seemed as if it would be out of place here, surrounded by sun and shrieks of joy, but the loneliness and intimate familiarity of it all permeated, piercing her soul.

 

“He would have liked it here.” Jon continued on resolutely, avoiding her eyes, and she took her cue from him, focusing instead on making sure she had left nothing behind.

 

He stood, and she scrambled up as well, holding out her hands for him to add what he had gathered. His fingers brushed against hers for just a smidge too long, and she felt her own cheeks heat. “Thanks for today,” she said, her breath catching at the smile of relief that spread across his face, the knowledge that she wasn’t going to press him for that particular story relaxing the tension in his shoulders.

 

“See what a little advanced planning can accomplish?” He spread his arms in the sun, turning to take in the courtyard and the screaming, happy kids surrounding them. “This doesn’t have to be _ so  _ difficult, Dany.”

 

She rolled her eyes at him, charmed in spite of herself, and turned on her heel, feeling his eyes on her back as she walked away toward the bathroom to clean out the brushes. She only stopped to give Dei the paint sets, the tittering of the older girls following her into the bathroom.

 

“Are you going to bring him along every time, Miss Dany?”

 

Dany laughed, throwing the brushes into the sink and turning on the tap, more than a little startled when she looked into the mirror to see that Allicia had only half finished what appeared to be some sort of abstract flower or non-corporeal design across her cheek and forehead. All she knew was that it was very, very blue.

 

“We’ll see,” she said, throwing the girls a wink as she rinsed out the brushes, pulling paper towels out to blot them dry.

 

The rest of the day ran by in a blur, with music classes taking up the majority of the afternoon, and Varys stopping by for a quick visit to express his commiseration for what had happened at Oberyn’s show before disappearing into his office to get a jump on the rest of the summer’s activity planning. “Field trips for all,” the only detail he would give.

 

Finally, the parents started to arrive to pick up those that were not permanently housed with them, the chorus of sweet goodbyes and hugs abounding through the brightly colored corridors. Missandei found her at the craft’s table at one point to ask if she’d seen Jaslynne, as her mother was here to pick her up, and the last anyone had seen, she’d been playing with Jon in the sandbox.

 

Dany ran the past few hours through her mind, realizing she’d only seen Jon fleetingly since the kickball game, his confidence in the security of their facility enough to let her roam as she pleased with only Jorah or Grey nearby. “I’ll find them,” she assured Missandei, “just give me a few minutes.”

 

She made her way to the nursery, some instinct pulling her there, sure that if Jaslynne had gotten cranky in the late afternoon as she usually did, Jon would have tried to find someplace a bit quieter to let her rest. What she didn’t expect to find was Jon sound asleep in a rocking chair, Jaslynne sprawled out across him, her little puffs of breath lifting her blonde curls with every exhale.

 

_ Well, this is unfair. _ It was like an emotional punch to the gut, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she watched them together, curled around each other, the picture of absolute trust and relaxation. She hated to wake either of them, especially knowing how little sleep Jon got, but needs must. She approached quietly, trying to figure out the best way to wake him without also doing the same to the sleeping toddler when his eyes cracked open. 

 

“Thank the gods,” he whispered. “I think I’m stuck.”

 

She couldn’t help the peal of laughter that escaped her, startling him and jostling Jaslynne awake, her piercing cry making her displeasure known. “Awww, it’s ok, baby,” she crooned, scooping her her out of Jon’s arms and into her own, cuddling Jaslynne’s soft curls against her neck, bouncing and whispering nonsense to get her to settle once more.

 

He chuckled as he got to his feet, shaking out his legs. “I was sure everyone had already left, and it’d be just me and her ‘til morning.”

 

“No,” she shook her head gently, cupping her hand against the baby’s head, resisting the urge to bury her nose in her curls, breathe in that unique scent. “You’ve earned your keep today. You get to come home with the rest of us. But first, we have to turn missy here over to her mama.”

 

Jon smoothed his hand over the back Jaslynne’s head in goodbye, his fingers briefly tangling with her own before he dropped his hand away. “Deal.”

 

~*~*~

 

Her fingers tapped nervously against her thigh in the stuffy waiting room. A harried secretary had waved them to a seat and then promptly forgotten about them as they waited for the Lord Commander. Only Jon seemed aware of her discomfort, watching her fidget with some amusement. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, the secretary popped up from behind a leaning stack of manuals. “You can go on in now.”

 

Dany stood, wiping her suddenly sweaty palms on her pressed slacks, looking to Jon who nodded and motioned for her to go ahead, taking a moment to speak lowly to Jorah and Grey. She took one more deep breath, and made her way to the door. 

 

“Lord Commander Slynt,” she swept into the man’s small office, the smell of mold and mildew from the hundreds of stacks of parchment covering every available surface nearly causing her to cough, the inch thick dust tickling her nose. 

 

“Miss Targaryen, thank you for coming.” The balding man took her outstretched hand, bending over it like some sort of lord instead of shaking it like a normal human. His other hand grasped her wrist a moment too long, the bristles of his white beard scraping against her skin until he let go, and gestured for her to take a seat.

 

“Mr. Snow, Stark Security—“ she motioned over her shoulder to Jon. “I’m sure you won’t mind if he sits in?” They shook hands formally, and she nodded for Jon to take the chair to her right, no need for him to stand at the back of the confined space like a household guard, both Jorah and Grey just on the other side of the door. His eyes were narrowed in dislike at the Lord Commander, but when she caught his gaze his lips turned up in the barest hint of encouragement and she tried not to let herself be distracted as she sat. “I’m glad we could finally make this happen.”

 

“Ah, yeah—“ Slynt shuffled through more papers and parchments on his desk as he sat, no doubt looking for her paperwork before tapping the intercom. “Where’s the Targaryen file?”

 

A shrill feedback loop was all that answered him, and he swore under his breath before he punched the button and it mercifully cut off. He opened one of his drawers and pawed through it before a sound of triumph escaped his wet lips. “Here we are!” He crowed in victory. “Now, let’s just get some of the preliminary nonsense out of the way.”

 

Dany nodded, straightening her jacket as he continued. “Name?”

 

“Daenerys Targaryen.”

 

“Occupation?”

 

“Spokesmodel, House Targaryen.”

 

“Marital Status?”

 

Dany blinked, hesitating a moment before answering. “Unmarried.”

 

Slynt narrowed his eyes at her. “That sounded a bit evasive, Daenerys.”

 

She sighed. This was going to be a long interview. “I’m not quite sure how my marital status factors into this situation?”

 

“Motive. Could be a raging ex-husband bent on reclaiming what’s rightfully his, could be a current husband bitter about divorce proceedings—“

 

“Single,” she snapped, her temper already flashing. “Not divorced, and certainly no one’s property, rightful or otherwise.”

 

The tense silence was only broken by the scratching of his pen as he made a note.

 

“Family?”

 

“One brother, Viserys.”

 

“And your deceased family?”

 

“Certainly you don’t think that one of my deceased family members has returned from beyond the grave to conspire to murder me.”

 

He shrugged. “I’ve seen some shit that would haunt your dreams, Daenerys.”

 

_ Too fucking late for that.  _ “Miss Targaryen,” she bit out. “If you please, Lord Commander?”

 

He didn’t like that, a sneer curling his top lip. “Of course. Dae—  _ Miss Targaryen _ … Deceased family?”

 

“One brother, Rhaegar Targaryen— deceased five years; my father, Aerys Targaryen— deceased eleven years; my mother, Rhaella Targaryen— deceased twenty-five years.”

 

“Any legal disputes with their last will and testaments?”

 

“Not to my knowledge, but you’d have to ask my brother.”

 

“And finally, you wish to waive your right to counsel for this meeting?”

 

She glanced at Jon, perplexed; confusion and anger simmering across his features as well. “What?”

 

“You wish to waive your right to counsel?” He repeated, as if speaking to a toddler.

 

“I most certainly do not.”

 

His beady little eyes narrowed further, if possible. “Something to hide, Miss Targaryen?”

 

“Of course not,” she scoffed. “However, you seem to be functioning under the predilection that I am either stupid, or insane, and I can assure you— I am neither.”

 

“So, you do not wish to waive your right to counsel.”

 

She spoke slowly, enunciating clearly. “I do not. I will answer what questions you have today to the best of my ability, but I do not, and will not waive my right for legal representation under any circumstances. Is that clear?”

 

“Crystal.”

 

“Good.” She slumped back into her chair, a huff of breath escaping her, the tension rolling off of her only reverberating as it clashed and combined with the dark energy Jon was exuding in waves. “Forgive me, but I was under the impression that I was here to give a statement regarding the letter found in my home. Am I under investigation?”

 

“ _ Leave no stone unturned _ is what I always say.”

 

There was another moment of silence as he made his notes before flipping through the file, and pulling out a parchment and inspecting it closely. “All right, so the findings from the lab indicate that the poison found in the wine was ‘Tears of Lys’. It’s not the most common poison in the world, but it’s also no ‘the Strangler’ if you know what I mean.”

 

“I’m afraid I’m not well versed in... poisons.” She stumbled over the last word, steeling her spine against the tendril of fear doing it’s damndest to wrap around the base of it.

 

“Made by alchemists in Lys, very expensive. Odorless, tasteless, dead in a few days, looks like natural causes.”

 

She nodded. “So someone would need to have a significant amount of expendable income to purchase it?”

 

“Or be an accomplished thief.” Slynt shrugged as he continued, “The card was embossed with Meereenese ink, available at any stationary shop nowadays. The picture was one of your photo shoots in Essos, correct?”

 

She nodded. “We shot a House Targaryen spread in the Red Waste a few years ago.”

 

“And did you recognize either the handwriting, or any of the content of the note? Especially as it would relate to that region?”

 

Relate to that region? What on earth was he talking about? “No.”

 

He made a note. “All right, so basically, this is a dead end. We have no way to trace where any of it came from— video footage from your manse has proved inconclusive, and the bottle found in your bedroom only had fingerprints from your staff, and one Tyrion Lannister.”

 

“Yes, I was told that one of the maids found the items in my room and brought it straight to Tyrion.”

 

“Do you have any reason to suspect that Tyrion or anyone on your household staff might wish you harm?”

 

She thought for a moment. “Not that I can think of. Not me anyway.”  _ However, if Viserys was the target…  _ Then they might have a different situation on their hands. A snort from Jon’s direction caused her mouth to quirk, his thoughts obviously aligning with her own, his low opinion of her brother clear.

 

“Can you think of anyone who would like to cause you harm?”

 

She cleared her throat, reaching into her purse for the bottle of water Missandei had thoughtfully tucked inside before they left. She took a sip, actively avoiding Jon’s watchful gaze. “Um, possibly. You likely already have a file on Drogo Asar. He stalked me when I was in Essos... seven or so years ago? He was caught, and determined to be a threat to others and himself. I believe he is still in a rehabilitation facility in the Dothraki Sea, but I have had no contact with him since his arrest.”

 

“What was the nature of stalking, his  _ MO _ ?”

 

Her fingers clenched tightly around the bottle of water, the plastic squeaking in her grip. “He would find out where I was using social media, and would show up at my shoots inevitably with some small ‘gift’— once it was a raw horse heart— asking for a few moments of my time. He would get… violent when he was turned away.” Her stomach turned over at the thought. “He was ill— thought he was a  _ Khal  _ of old, and wished to make me his  _ Khaleesi.  _ My security advisor at the time, Jorah Mormont, identified him as a threat, and when his pattern emerged, called the authorities.”

 

“I know Mormont, he’s a good man.” Slynt nodded. “You seem well rehearsed, Miss Targaryen.”

 

Her temper flared again, and she desperately tried to tamp it down. “I’ve had quite a bit of time to give this some thought,” she said pointedly. “I’ve not gone on any vacations in recent memory, and since the initial discovery of the poison have been made a target multiple times.”

 

“Yeah, that paintball nonsense was horse shit. Our boys caught that anarchist twink before he got a block away. Someone was supposed to call you about that.” Dany felt her jaw drop before she could compose herself, staring open-mouthed at his obnoxious bald head as the annoying scratching sound of his pen scraped against her nerves again. She shot a quick look at Jon as she fought the urge to rub at her suddenly pulsing bruises, his thunderstruck look of rage confirming that no one had called.

 

“Anyone else?”

 

She shook her head, trying to claw her way back to the relevant line of questioning, her stomach churning with her own simmering anger. “I do have one ex that might be cause for concern— Daario Naharis. He’s a Lieutenant in the Second Sons. We broke up five years ago, and he did not take it well.”

 

“And why did you break up?”

 

She rolled her head to try to relieve some of the tension building in her neck, her cheeks flushed as she felt Jon’s gaze on her. “My brother had just died, and it threw my life into quite a sharp relief. I realized that Daario and I were not right for each other. I had… outgrown him. He disagreed.”

 

“Sounds to me like you just tossed him aside the second you could gain some power in the family business.”

 

“You would be incorrect in that assumption, ser, as my position within House Targaryen did not change. Viserys took over as CEO, not I.” She swallowed down the rest of her ire, knowing that the second she showed any emotion whatsoever, Janos  _ fucking _ Slynt would write her off as feminine and weak— possibly deserving of the cards that were being dealt to her.

 

“Do you know where he is currently?”

 

“My guess would be Meereen, but no. I do not. I have not had any contact with him in at least a year.”

 

“And the last time you spoke?”

 

_ Ashes in her wake… _ “Harsh words, accusations. He wanted ‘closure’ after all these years. I attempted to give it to him. It did not go well.”

 

“Mmmhmmm. Anyone else?”

 

“Any number of other jealous models that are too many to name, however no one that I can identify specifically. No arch-rivals, or competitors pitted against each other in this situation.”

 

_ That _ got his fucking attention, Slynt looking up in disappointment at that answer, no doubt hoping to call in another young beauty so that he could spread his toxicity over her as well.

 

“Do you have any idea why either of these young men would want to harm you?”

 

“Revenge? Restitution? Unrequited love can make for a powerful motive.”

 

“So does money.” Slynt’s eyes narrowed at her.

 

“Your point, ser?”

 

“Are you aware that your brother recently took out a 10 billion dragon life insurance policy on you?”

 

“If by recently, you mean five years ago after we discovered that Rhaegar had died with no such policy in place, then yes, I am aware.” Slynt looked even more disappointed at that, consulting his notes once more. “You’ll also note that Viserys has an identical policy. Our worth tripled after Rhaegar’s passing. Tyrion has all the proper paperwork.” 

 

“Are you aware of House Targaryen’s current net worth?”

 

“I am not. My brother handles the business side with Petyr Baelish, our CFO. I contribute to the creative side with Viserys’ input.”

 

“Seems like you might want to check in with your brother there, Miss Targaryen.”

 

A cold shiver went through her at the warning as Slynt tossed something across the desk at her, her fingers scrabbling to catch it before it fell off. It was a series aerial photos— large, grey buildings with smokestacks, lines of children marching in and out of the factories, desolate landscape stretching in all directions. Her stomach turned at the sight of it. “What is this?”

 

“You tell me.”

 

“I have never seen these photos before, nor do I recognize them.” She handed the photos to Jon, his dark eyes scanning them quickly before handing them back over to Slynt. 

 

“Those are two of the newest House Targaryen ‘acquisitions’, two new factories purchased within the past year,” Slynt purred, flinty eyes watching her closely. 

 

“You are mistaken, ser. We have one manufacturing plant in Pentos, that is all.”

 

“What do you know about child labor laws in Ghiscar?” Her head was starting to hurt, a pounding in her temples driving her to distraction, confusion making itself plain across her features. “Wouldn't it be ironic to find that the woman who claims to care for the welfare of all, children especially, was responsible for destroying the lives of children and families all throughout the outskirts of Astapor?” 

 

A clutch of dread wound its way around her heart. “House Targaryen has worked for years to expand their fair trade, sustainable fashion lines. My brother, Rhaegar started that revolution ten years ago, after my father died. Viserys and I have done all that we can to uphold and continue that vision.”

 

“But you are aware, that such nastiness does exist in the world of fashion, and that the irony of House Targaryen being involved in such might cause some of those chickens to come home to roost?”

 

Her heart was racing, the thought of those children— any children— being forced into unwilling labor turning her stomach no matter who was responsible. “What are you asking me?”

 

“That’s a nice scratch on your neck there.” Her head spun at the change of tack, completely off balance as her hand went to the red mark on her neck, healing nicely, but not completely gone yet. “Where’d you get that?”

 

She honestly didn’t remember how it got there, so much of the night of Oberyn’s show a blur in her mind. “I assume it happened in the scramble during the paintball... incident.” Yet another thing to ask Jon to fill in for her later.

 

“You sure? Or does your boyfriend beat you?” His eyes shifted pointedly to Jon and back to her. 

 

His unspeakable gaffe had her head spinning— how could he— was he fucking  _ stupid _ ? “As if I could admit to that with him sitting  _ in this very room _ .” 

 

Even if he truly thought that Jon or anyone else was abusing her, which she very much doubted— an evil glint appearing in his beady little eyes— procedure dictated asking the survivor of such abuse about it  _ privately _ , away from the watchful eye of the abuser. She knew that the City Watch was a joke, but this was a bridge too far. Her rage was boiling now, her hands shaking as she stashed the forgotten water bottle into her bag.

 

How many battered women, and possibly men, had come to this sham of an organization for help, only to be stymied by the likes of this imbecile. Her mind was already turning, new propositions to bring to the Board to expand their outreach program, establish liaisons to help any abuse survivor that wanted to press charges, or needed to interact with the City Watch at any point. 

 

She shot to her feet, 1000% done with this interview, a million other questions burning in her mind— Slynt’s strange line of query unearthing nothing but confusion. Only Viserys could possibly answer them. 

 

“We’re done here. Any other questions you have for me can be directed through my counsel, Tyrion Lannister.” She snapped her gaze to Jon, his silence taking on a dangerous edge the further they tread into that minefield of a conversation. “We’re leaving.”

 

~*~*~

 

“You were quiet in there.”

 

Jon turned his head to look at Daenerys, from where he had been silently seething while staring out the car window, finding he had to unclench his jaw before he could speak. “I didn’t need to say anythin.’” There was a small flare to her nostrils and he realized with a sudden start she may be misunderstanding his silence. “The second I opened my mouth in there was the moment he ignored you completely. You know that.” He took her huff as agreement, confused and conflicted as to why she was bringing it up. Unless she needed an outlet for her own frustration and an eager part of him was willing to let her use him as she see fit.

 

“I know. Gods, he made me so  _ angry! _ ” Hands reached up to thread into her hair, Jon remembering vividly how soft it was between his fingers, his eyes flickering to the front seat to see where Jorah and Grey’s attention was at.

 

“He’s a fuckin’ idiot.” A small smile played at the corner of her lips, the first one he’d seen in hours and it settled somewhere behind his ribcage, to be saved for examination at another time. Right now he was still too furious over Janos Slynt to worry over why he wanted to see those shadows leave her face.

 

“I won’t argue with that.” Her voice held disdain, rightfully so after that fiasco. 

 

He had been on the edge of standing up and dragging that useless man over his desk when she has put an end to the questions, the  _ interrogation  _ as if she were the criminal. Sending Grey out to get the car, he had tucked her under his arm and sandwiched her between him and Jorah, the other man glancing worriedly at Jon after catching the fury in Daenerys’ eyes.

 

Blowing out a breath, he ran his hand over his face trying to separate his anger from his thoughts, pulling the threads that might be important, not letting himself linger on her,  _ with him sitting in this very room _ and its implications, even if there was an easy explanation of why she had said it.

 

“Are you seriously worried about either that Drogo or Daario?” He had been lax, he realized, just focusing on security when he was fully capable of doing more, his background leaving him well enough trained and with enough resources to do a little  _ more. _

 

“Not really.” She said it with a pause, carefully considering her words and Jon believed that it was something that she hadn’t previously thought twice about. “But nothing else makes sense.”

 

A niggling thought was in his head, his fingers tapping on the car window as he tried sorting it out, wanting to make sure the reasoning was solid and not because he didn’t like the man. Looking again at Jorah and Grey, he pushed the button to roll up the divider, watching her eyes go wide with surprise. Ignoring the heat in his veins, he kept his voice low. “How would Viserys benefit if anything was to happen to you?”

 

“That is a terrible question to ask me, Jon.” Her face twisted up and she flinched, a visible shudder running through her.

 

“I know it is. I’m sorry, but I’m asking it anyway.” He hated pushing on it, knowing Viserys was her only family left in the world, that the mere thought that he might be behind wanting to hurt her, must shred her insides.

 

“Money is money, I suppose.” Hands fluttered in the air for a moment, faltering before she gathered her strength. “In the long run, it’s more profitable to keep me alive.” Her voice caught in that word. “I’m the creative side, my designs are what keep our business afloat.” Clearing her throat, she shook her head, corrected herself. “My modeling keeps us going, my designs are building upon the foundation Rhaegar left us. Vis can’t do this without me.”

 

Jon thought Viserys probably would try or at least didn’t think that far ahead, depending on what their current financial situation was and made a mental note to ask Tyrion to look into those factories. She might believe her brother, but Jon had the benefit of looking at it from the outside, didn’t wear the sibling blinders she had forced herself into. He would pass on the information and concentrate on keeping her alive, even if the job would be easier if he could see the direction it was coming from, the need for her to be safe feeding through his muscles at all times.

 

“I didn’t ask that to upset you and I know you told Slynt that, I just wanted to see if you had any doubt.” The urge to take her hand had him making a fist, professionalism seeming to be slowly evaporating with each passing day and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to cling to it or shove it away completely, the tug or war within him making him jittery and confused.

 

“I know.”  Her voice was weary, a reflection of the chaos in her life and he wanted to distract and soothe, knowing neither option was a possibility. “So what happens now? They have no leads.”

 

Wincing with the knowledge of the next step, he turned himself toward her, ignoring the seat belt tightening down on him as she angled herself in his direction, blue eyes focusing on him. “They are at a dead end until something else happens.”

 

“Until something else happens?” She said each word slowly, carefully weighing their meaning, her shrewd mind picking up on the implication. “What if the person succeeds the next time?”

 

White hot rage filled his chest as she poked at the bruises on her own, a grim reminder at how differently it could have been, how he needed to be better prepared, those purple marks taunting him with how he failed. “I won’t let it happen.”

 

It sounded more vicious than he meant, something crossing her face before she started to reach out, then stopped herself. “It wouldn’t be your fault, if it were.” The matter of fact way she said it made goosebumps break out on his skin. “You can only do so much, Jon. Remember that.”

 

It grabbed him by the throat, her seeming acceptance that he might not be enough and he didn’t even think this time, a hand over her shoulder, the feel of her collarbone under his thumb making him want to trace it, the heat of her skin seeping into the rough of his palm. “Don’t think like that. I’m here to stop anything. I’m sorry about what happened the other night, I should have-“

 

“You couldn’t have done anything short of locking me in the manse.” Slender fingers hooked over his forearm and for a moment her head tipped, chin brushing across his knuckles. “I didn’t listen to you and look at what happened.” His fingers tightened involuntary, a slight squeeze. “I trust your instincts and expertise now.”

 

Realizing he was lingering too much on the feel of her under his touch, he slowly pulled his hand back, fingers tangling slightly in her hair, brushing across the angry mark over her neck. Suddenly he could remember the panic of that night, but another memory was coming with it, making the heat flow through him, her dainty form under him, hands holding warm round flesh.

 

Blowing out a breath, he pulled quickly back the rest of the way, hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt, her bright gaze fixed on him and making his skin itch, his shirt suddenly feeling too tight and he glanced away long enough to crack the window, let air swirl around him.

 

“I hope that means we won’t be having anymore arguments.” He made himself say something, needing to diffuse the tension rolling around them, suddenly thick as syrup, her own hand coming up to cover the spot that his had just occupied.

 

Her smile was as bright as the sun, addicting in its warmth. “I wouldn’t go that far.

 

~*~*~

 

She felt like she was burning up from the inside out. The combination of his heated touch, the way his eyes lingered on the scratch on her neck, the feel of his fingers brushing through her hair combining with the rage still boiling inside of her creating a heady cocktail.

 

Confusion simmered there too, unable to overlook Jon’s practical questions about Viserys. They had never been especially close, even as children— her father spending the most time with his youngest son, leaving Rhaegar and her to navigate through their lonely world with only each other. She hated to say it, but it had been a relief for her when Aerys died and Rhaegar took over the business. 

 

Viserys saw it differently.

 

But, she also knew that recovery took time. Viserys had clawed his way back to sobriety, and while his track record had never been perfect, he did keep at least  _ attempting _ to try. Even Rhaegar's death had given him a renewed sense of purpose, something he had been lacking in the years since Aerys passed, a light in an otherwise bleak period of her life— losing one brother to regain another.

 

Perhaps she had been hiding in her sketches long enough. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t giving her very life blood to the company, but she could still do  _ more _ — she was Designer in everything but name, after all. And, while her designs might not bear her individual name, she could still do more than design on whatever budget Vis gave her at the beginning of each quarter, contribute more than just her face and body. Perhaps it was time to offer more, to help her brother shoulder the load he had taken onto himself.

 

And if he was behind all this heinousness? Maybe proving her worth would endear her to him… for once.

 

They were quiet for the rest of the ride, each lost to their private thoughts, the fresh air circulating through the open window ruffling her hair in the breeze. A knock on the divider jostled her out of her reverie, realizing they had never put it back down. She reached for the button and the divider lowered, Jorah’s flashing blue eyes immediately finding hers before turning in the rearview to fix a less than pleased look on Jon.

 

“Everything all right?” His gruff voice had her almost rolling her eyes, her Old Bear flexing and making his presence known.

 

“Yes,” she said, flicking him with a warning glare of her own. “Grey, can you can drop us off out front please, I need to find Vis.”

 

Jon tensed beside her, his fist doing that clenching, unclenching thing. She wondered if he even realized he did it. He didn’t protest, yet, but she could feel the waves of disapproval coming off of him.

 

Grey pulled the car up the circular drive, and Dany stepped out of the car easily, Jon rounding the other side to catch her elbow and hurry her to the front door, ever vigilant. Even with all the changes and additional security measures he had already put into place, the manse a fortress now in almost every sense of the word, he still worried. She let them in, handing off her purse and jacket to the maid who greeted them.

 

Jon shoved his hands deep into his pockets, turning to face her. “Are you sure you should talk to him now?”

 

She nodded. “Some of the things Slynt said don’t add up. I need to ask Vis a few questions, get some clarity.”

 

“I’m coming with you then.”

 

“You’re not.” She smiled gently at him. “I don’t even know if you’ve signed an NDA, and you already got more of an earful than I was anticipating at the Watch this morning.”

 

“Dany—” his brow furrowed, and the urge to reach out and thumb away the tension between his eyebrows was strong.

 

“He won’t answer me truthfully with you in the room, Jon. I know my brother. He may not even answer me without you there, but… I have to try. Besides, I plan on keeping it strictly business.” She fought off the shudder that tried to run through her, her breath locking in her throat at the mere thought of Vis causing her any real harm. She stubbornly put that thought behind her. “You should really go see Tyrion about that NDA. You’ve seen a lot of things in the past few weeks. I don’t need the tabloids getting ahold of a story like ‘Dragon Queen sleeps with nightlight’ or any other lies you may want to spread one day.”

 

She softened her words with the barest wink, Jon’s hackles stalled before they had a chance to rise too far. “Do you really think I’d—“

 

“No, it’s just a precaution. Who knows, maybe you already signed it and now you’re stuck with all my secrets burning a hole through your heart.” She turned away before he could protest further.

 

He caught her with a gentle hand on her wrist. “Do me a favor?”

 

She turned back to him, breath catching in her chest at the fire in his eyes. “Door stays open when you find him. Deal?” Another shiver of dread tried to work its way through her, but she refused to give that fear any more ground. “I mean it, Dany. Please.”

 

She wet her suddenly dry lips. “Deal,” she heard herself saying, his small smile of relief settling in her bones. He let her go, and she lifted her chin as she turned,  Jon following behind until he met Missandei in the hall as she headed toward her study, figuring she might as well grab her sketchbook to go over her thoughts for the new  Fall line while she was at it.

 

The lights were off as she pushed the door open, taking a moment to slip out of her blazer, rolling her shoulders to relieve some of the tension. It was almost time to put more of Jon’s salve on the bruises, the mottled purple color beneath her chemise spreading, looking much worse before it would look better. Thankfully, she had a week or so before her next shoot, so hopefully everything would heal in time. If not, there was always Irri’s magic.

 

“It’s about time you got back.” She jumped, spinning around to face just the man she was looking for, her hand going over her heart as she slapped at the light switch.

 

“Gods, Viserys!” He was seated in her chair behind her desk, her sketch pad open on the desk, a tumbler of brown liquid curled in his hand. Her heart sank at the sight. That was never a good sign. Her pulse was still pounding, her mind turning, trying to ascertain which sketchbook he had found, praying it was the one full of her ideas and designs for the upcoming season, and not the one full of Jon.

 

He put the tumbler to his lips, knocking the drink back in one swallow before he stumbled to his feet, leaning heavily on her desk for support. “Where were you?” He asked, reaching for the nearly empty bottle also sitting on her desk, pouring himself another glass.

 

“My City Watch interview was today,” her voice sounded small, and she cleared her throat. “We should talk abou—“

 

“And when were you going to tell me about this?” The crumpled up piece of paper hit her between the eyes, his aim astonishing given his current state.

 

“Vis, why don’t you sit dow—“

 

“Trying to fix Oberyn’s PR problems, are you?” Another sip, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

 

Dany shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Read it,” his voice was perfectly calm, although cold. He nodded to the paper at her feet. “I’ll wait.”

 

She kept her eyes on him, knowing how fast he could move under the usual circumstances, and knelt to pick up the crumpled piece of paper, the sigil of House Martell emblazoned across the letterhead. She smoothed the paper out as flat as she could, her eyes flying across the scrawl. Oberyn thanked her for waiving her fee in light of the ‘unfortunate incident’, and would instead be donating her salary to No-Kill shelters in the area— receipts to follow. A peace offering to both House Targaryen, and animal rights activists across Westeros.

 

“Just suck his dick like the good little whore that you are, next time. Then we can at least keep the gods-forsaken money.”

 

“Vis, his show was ruined. Possibly because I took the job. He could have sued us, what was I supposed to—“

 

He was across the room before she could finish her protest, his bony thumb digging into her bruises as he gripped her shoulder. She bit her lip, stifling the cry of pain as her entire arm and shoulder lit up in agony. “You really are a stupid bitch, aren’t you...” His breath stank of the dark  rum  as he leaned into her, his weight almost too much for her to bear. “Why do you think I pushed you to take the fucking job, Daenerys?”

 

“I don’t know. You never tell me why.” She fought to keep her voice calm, knowing she could talk him down, just needing him to fight through the alcohol and  _ listen _ .

 

He snarled. “Father was right about you… Little whore with no mind for numbers, just good tits and ass.”

 

She reared back as far as she could, his words as good as any slap, her fingers scrabbling on his wrist, trying to get him to release her. “Are you using again?”

 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Blame all your little shit on the fact that I had a drink, or snorted a line? Well, let me tell you a thing or two,  _ sweet sister…  _ You wouldn’t be here right now if not for me. I saved this company when you and Rhaegar were determined to run it into the ground, and I’ll still be here even after you’re gone.” His voice rose in hysteria, and she ducked as he hurled the glass across the room, the tinkling as the glass shattered ringing in her ears.

 

She finally pried his fingers off her shoulder, sparks of pain shooting down her arm, the tingling in her fingertips not distracting her from what she needed to know. “What are those factories, Vis? The ones outside of Astapor-- why does the Watch have pictures of  _ children _ ?”

 

His face went a pasty white, blown pupils sluggishly searching for her face. Her heart dropped at his response, desperately wishing that he would deny it, tell her she was crazy. She grasped his hand as his balance wavered, trying to lead him to the sofa. “The Watch knows about whatever that is. They’re going to want to talk to you next, I assume, so whatever it is, whatever you’re doing— Vis, it needs to  _ stop. _ ”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

It all happened so quickly, one moment on her feet, the next moment stars in her vision as she reeled back, falling against the bookcase. The left side of her face was numb, the only sensation a deep flare of pain and wetness as her hand pulled away from her mouth, the red of the blood on it deep, dark, more vibrant than the paint had ever been.

 

He’d hit her.

 

He hadn’t actually hit her in years. Not since Rhaegar’s funeral. Not since—

 

A shadow fell over her, an unearthly snarl filling her ears, and she flinched away, certain that Vis was back, some other punishment to be doled out upon her, only for once, it wasn’t her crying out.

 

~*~*~

 

It was a struggle to not keep following Daenerys down the hall, unease making every step heavy, the weariness in her blue eyes making him wish he could solve all her problems, see her brightness without the shadow hanging over her.

 

But, he couldn’t do that for her, all he could do was his job. “You’ve got the upcoming schedule?” He tapped Missandei on the elbow, directing her towards his office.

 

“Tell me how much of a pain in the arse our schedule is going to be for the next two weeks.” He settled into his chair, pen at ready, doing his best to act like he wasn’t straining to hear down the hall or had his eyes glued to the monitors, Daenerys not having appeared from her study.

 

Fuck, he hated that she was going to talk to Viserys without him there. Her brother was a proven bully, volatile and while he wasn’t worried for his own safety, no matter how tough Daenerys was, she was still outmatched in strength and pure meanness.

 

“That depends on what you think the past few weeks have been.” Missandei’s smile met the corner of her eyes and he was thankful she was pretending that he was paying attention.

 

Letting out a grunt of an answer, leg jumping with energy, he took another look into the cameras, confirming no Dany or Viserys still. “Interesting, I call it interesting.” He offered a half smile of apology, flipped open his notebook. Life was much easier for him if he got along with the person keeping Dany’s every move mapped out.

 

“It’s going to stay interesting.” She hesitated, voice dropping as if it were a conspiracy. “How did it go with City Watch? Are they close?”

 

With a shake of his head the frustration rolled back through him. Gods… Slynt was in charge of that madhouse? “Not close enough. You’re going to be stuck with me for a while.”

 

She snorted and batted her eyes at him in jest. “I’m sure Daenerys will hate that.”

 

Ignoring the heat crawling up his neck, feeling like he was stuck in a swamp and bogged down, mind filling with deciphering what  _ that  _ meant, he tapped his paper. “What do we have, Dei?”

 

“She has a studio interview with  _ Late Night _ host, Renly Baratheon, in two days, and the end of next week,” brown eyes scanned her phone, a smile as her gaze flickered back up to him. “A photo shoot.”

 

Somehow the look on her face wanted to make him shift in his seat, as if she knew a secret he wasn’t in on. “Thursday, interview,  the following Friday is the shoot?” He noted it down. “Locations please.”

 

She paused, scrolled. “ _ Late Night with Renly B  _ will be done at the WBC building in Cobbler Square.”

 

It would take him no time at all to find out who was security for the building, see what needed to be done to boost it, maybe even give Grey a bit more responsibility and let him make the initial plan. “The photo shoot?”

 

“Here.”

 

That made his life easier. “I’ll need a list of names of everyone involved that will be here.” He tapped his pen impatiently, looked down at his notes. “And there is probably another plan for being at Rhaegar’s Harp on Tuesday?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He glanced again at the monitors, the uneasy feeling getting worse, the urge to head down the hall making him jittery.  _ She needed some space,  _ he reminded himself, the day long, that time with Slynt upsetting and unnerving, and she’d made it clear that she wanted the talk with Viserys to be private. He checked his bare wrist from habit, his watch still in Dany’s possession. “Monday.”

 

“What?” Missandei’s head popped up.

 

“Move it to Monday and keep her schedule clear for the rest of the day.” There was a lightness in his chest remembering her face covered in blue paint, children all around her. She had been all smiles and laughs, sunshine and moonglow and he wanted to give her the opportunity to be carefree again, even for just a short amount of time. “And don’t tell anyone we are moving it.”

 

The sound of breaking glass has his head snapping to attention, hackles rising with the loud voices coming down the hall. Muscles tensing he shoved back from his chair, a violent push that sent it into the table behind him, monitors rattling and swaying precariously. But none of that mattered as he hit the hallway, because he hadn’t heard voices, just  _ one  _ voice, the need to be between her and those vicious words fueling him on.

 

“Fuck you.”

 

If the door had been closed he would have torn off its hinges, his boots stomping prints into the floor, rage bubbling up and spewing over as he watched Viserys lift his hand, Jon’s steps not long enough, everything seemingly stuck in slow motion and he was going to fail  _ again. _

 

The backhand knocked her off her feet, sending her into the bookshelf and his vision darkened, narrowed, his chest making an inhuman sound. Wanting to rip and break, he grabbed Viserys by his arm, yanking backwards. The lighter man lost his balance, surprise and the defiance in his glassy eyes as Jon let go of him, desperation grabbing tightly, needing to make it to her side as she pulled her hand away from her face in muted horror.

 

The sound he made gave Viserys away and Jon straightened, up on the balls of his feet, his anger coating his tongue, lining his chest as he jerked his head out of the way, the fist moving too slow. His did not, the satisfaction of cartilage crunching under his knuckles feeding the wolf inside, the urge to press toward Viserys, to pummel and destroy making him take a step forward.

 

But Jorah was there, a hand on his chest to stop his forward march, Viserys not at all stoic holding a bloody nose, his screeching nasal. “What did you do? Who do you think you are?”

 

Bared teeth came naturally in response to the yelling. Viserys leaned against Daenerys’ desk and he almost shoved past Jorah, to show Viserys  _ just who he really was _ , when a quiet,  _ Jon  _ came from behind him.

 

He shoved the beast back in its cage where it snapped and snarled, turning to Daenerys, her cheek red, the swelling becoming evident and he felt as if he’d been hit himself, the air knocked out of his lungs, seeing her sitting there dazed and small.

 

“Dany.” It was softer than he thought himself capable, especially with all the darkness drowning him and he dropped down gather her up, lift her to her feet where she swayed once, wet eyes turning to fire as they fixed on her brother.

 

“Get him out of here!” Viserys’ voice had taken a shrill tone, Grey rushing in at the noise. Jon kept a hand under Dany’s elbow, leaving her the choice of staying at his side or leaving it.

 

“No.” Her voice was flat and firm, a hand held gingerly to her cheekbone. Jon bristled beside her, ready to protect at the slightest provocation.

 

“You’re fired!” A finger pointed bravely from over Jorah’s shoulder. “He’s fired, Daenerys! Grey, call the City Watch. I’m going to file assault-“

 

“You will not!” She was moving now, both hands balled at her side, spine stiffened and Jon felt his heart give a wild thump. Here was the fire, hot and burning. “He stays.” A sneer crossed her lips. “And you will not touch me again,  _ brother _ , or it will be the last thing you ever do. Jorah, please remove him from my study and this wing. He has no business being here.”

 

Viserys' face had gone through a couple of shades of red, blood dripping wet and dark through his fingers as Jorah hooked an arm around him, hauling him bodily from her room.

 

Her ragged breathing filled the empty space, his own lungs stalling until her hand landed on his arm, pulling him out of his trance, “Dany.” He exhaled her name, seeing the welling tears and caught her by the waist to lift her slight form and deposit her easily on her desk. 

 

“What are you doing?” Her voice was soft as he crowded in close, wincing as she flinched at his gently pressing fingers, but he had to check, horror tasting sour at what he might find.

 

“Making sure he didn’t break your cheekbone.” He wasn’t a Maester, but enough field training left him confident enough that she was still in one piece, the knot in his chest loosening even as the disgust with himself built up. She would be covered in more bruises, hurt inflicted upon her, because he was always one step behind.

 

Hands clenched together to control their shaking, his anger starting to appear as little black dots in his vision. The fury was still bubbling dangerously in his veins, the urge to go and smash Viserys’ face again extremely tempting.

 

But there were more important matters and he let his shoulders drop, admiring the defiant rage covering her face. “C’mon.” He hooked gentle fingers under her elbows to pull her off the desk, to start her moving before releasing his grip, not wanting to handle or force her, but wanting to get them both away from this space for just a bit of time.

 

“Where are we going?” She moved in pace with him and he wanted to draw her closer, fingers digging into his palm to prevent it.

 

“Kitchen. You need ice for that.” The rage bubbled again, the bloom of a bruise already appearing and he was fucking tired of seeing marks on her flesh, disgusted with himself for letting it happen, wanting to break the bones of every person who thought they could touch her.

 

“Jon.” A hand closed over his fist, her shoulder bumping into him, drawing him back down. “You’re going to break your teeth if you keep grinding them like that.”

 

Unclenching the jaw he didn’t know was clenched, he blew out a breath, another ounce of self despising heaping onto the pile he was growing, her trying to reassure him when he should be doing that for her. “I’m sorry.”

 

“For what?”

 

He could only shake his head, the feeling of failure making him nauseous as he lead them to the counter. “He’s been escalating in violence. I should have known better, I shouldn’t have left him alone with you.” Grabbing a dish towel from the drawer, he threw it on the counter, ignored the heat of her eyes staring at him.

 

“You are not here to be a buffer between my brother and I.” Some of her temper was picking back up, that backbone of steel that she had just shown to Viserys, and it helped ease some of the knot inside of him.

 

“You shouldn’t need a fuckin’ buffer, Daenerys.” Grabbing the tray of ice, he gave it a hard twist to break the cubes free, telling himself to calm down, marveling that she was standing in his space with the violence ebbing off of him. “He should never touch you, never talk to you like that, try and make you anything less than you are.”

 

“He’s the only family I have left, I can’t turn away from him.” Her words twisted his heart, made him ache. “He won’t touch me again, I can promise you that.”

 

That oath almost broke him, made him want to gather her close and hold her, trying to keep himself composed for her sake. Dumping the ice into the towel, he folded it up, letting out a big sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat. His frustration was misplaced, he was taking it out on her and that barely made him more tolerable that Viserys. He finally allowed himself to turn  back towar d her, only to find defiance on her face— her chin held sternly, even with the color blooming on her cheek. 

 

Moving slowly towards her, he watched her for any sign of discomfort from his presence, but she never wavered, eyes keeping locked with his as he closed in on her, boxing her neatly between himself and the counter.

 

He needed to walk away, call Missandei in to take care of this, not let another notch of his control slip. His fingers found her chin, as softly and gently as he could, tilting it up and angling it to see the damage done to her flawless skin. “I’m sorry.” He repeated, thumb brushing over the swollen spot, feather light, her eyes rounding. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

 

“Stop apologizing to me.” She gave a small hiss when he came in contact with the cut at the corner of her mouth and he bit back the words she didn’t want to hear from him.

 

Instead, he pressed the ice against her cheek, his other hand cupping the other side of her perfect face to prevent her from flinching away. That’s what he told himself, his heart beating wildly with the tangle of emotions running through him, wild and untamed, leaving him unable to get a grasp on them, the urge to touch his forehead to hers leaving him a little breathless, at a loss for words.

 

But it seemed none were needed, fingers wrapping around his wrists, her prints searing into his skin with a welcome heat and she let her head rest in his palm, his own digits lost in the soft silk of her hair, watching her long lashes flutter as she welcomed his help, his  _ touch,  _ and he wondered where their line had disappeared to, if it had left with him punching Viserys or with her curled into him on the couch in her study, sharing broken pieces of themselves.

 

He was losing the battle with keeping his distance, and he realized he really didn’t care. “Tell me how to make this better for you.”

 

Lashes fluttered at him, eyes going bright and wet and for a moment he thought she might break, might let herself feel the full impact of what happened. And  _ fuck,  _ he wanted to be there to catch her. “You already are.” 

 

Those words settled in him, melting some of the ice he’d been encased in, warmth filling those spots, his thumbs brushing her cheek and he wanted to kiss her, see how soft her lips were, see how she’d respond, but he didn’t, couldn’t, knew it was the worst possible time, afraid she’d get wrapped up in muffling her own pain, use him as a bandaid and as much as he wanted to give that to her, he wasn't sure he could withstand it, that it might finish tearing him in half. 

 

So he kept the slight distance between them, the air thick, her eyes squeezing shut as she kept her grip on his wrists, his heart thudding wildly.

 

“Do we need to call someone?”

 

Jorah’s voice startled him, abruptly pulling them out of the muted bubble that had been building around them and Jon glanced over his shoulder, saw something flicker in the other man’s face before it was gone. 

 

A slight shake of her head from where it rested in his hand, gave him the answer, something inside him twisting with sorrow at her quiet acceptance. Eyes stayed closed and he couldn’t help but move his thumb again, brush away some of the wet from her cheeks that she was trying to desperately to hold back. 

 

“No.” His voice was rough, hoarse as it crawled out of this throat. He would have to call a meeting with all of security, lay down the new rules, but for now, he’d stay put for as long as she wanted. 

 

~*~*~


	6. I need you here to wipe away my tears, to kiss away my fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She nodded again, wetting her lips before finally blurting out, “Can this stay open? Just for tonight?”
> 
>  
> 
> He blinked, his mouth relaxing as sympathy took over, and maybe, maybe just the tiniest bit of relief. “Aye.”
> 
>  
> 
> She shivered as she nodded, another thanks upon her lips until his eyes narrowed at her, reading her thoughts before she could say it aloud. She pressed her lips together, mirth dancing in her eyes for the briefest moment before he nodded and stepped back.
> 
>  
> 
> It took a moment for her to get her body to move, reaching to turn off the lamp on her bedside table before she could do something truly ill advised, burrowing her way into her nest of pillows and tangle of blankets and sheets on the floor before she lay back. There were a few sounds from the room next door, Jon shuffling through the rest of his nightly routine before his light also doused.
> 
>  
> 
> She didn’t sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters made possible with a little help-
> 
> Alice, our amazing beta. Thank you for fielding our questions, letting us throw stupid amounts of pages at you (I don’t know how it happens) and going over it all with a fine toothed comb. We love you.
> 
> JW for giving us these amazing visuals to spice up our words. Your amount of giving is one of the best parts of fandom ❤️
> 
> My co-writer Meg- I love you heaps and mounds.. Writing is desperately fun (most of the time) and addicting as it is, but when you find your evil brain twin- well all the time we’ve spent plotting and evil cackling makes it 100 times even better.

 

**TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ - mentions of abuse— physical and emotional, and violence against women** , so please take care of yourselves and proceed with a bit of caution.

 

~*~*~

 

_Tell me how to make this better for you…_

 

How could she explain to him that his gentle words had broken her, flayed her heart to the core, leaving her bare before him? There, in the circled sanctuary of his arms, his thumbs gently brushing over her hurts, both physical and emotional, the rawness in his eyes, the guilt and hurt coloring his voice— he had somehow worked his way past all of her defenses and she was lost to him, unmoored in an unfamiliar sea of emotion.

 

No one had ever stood up for her for the sake of _her_ before. He had risked her brother’s incredible wrath to protect _her_. Her stomach was still churning, anxiously awaiting some sign of Viserys’ inevitable revenge, but for now, here with Jon’s hands gently cupping her face she found she couldn’t bring herself to care.

 

A new thought struggled to make its way to the surface of her mind— she actually _didn’t_ deserve to be treated as less than, as weak, as stupid. She was none of those things, even though her entire life she had been told little else. Even Rhaegar hadn’t bothered to correct her father or Viserys when they said as much— he simply tried to comfort her when it all became too overwhelming for her to bear.

 

She took a shaky breath and opened her eyes to find Jon studying her intently, the pain in his eyes as he observed her draining the rest of her adrenaline fueled rage away instantaneously. Her hands tightened on his wrists as her knees gave out, the full impact of the last few minutes finally hitting her. His hips drove into her, pinning her between him and the counter to keep her from collapsing to the floor, sealing their bodies together from groin to chest as he scrambled to keep from dropping the ice. His other hand wrapped around her back, fingers scrabbling in her shirt for purchase as her chest heaved against his.

 

“Fuck, Dany? Stay with me.”

 

She shut her eyes again, unable to withstand the hurt and concern in his eyes, the guilt at the edges threatening to drown him as well. It was all for her, nothing saved for himself, and she couldn’t help the way her fingers curled into his shirt, her forehead coming to rest against his breastbone as she struggled to regain control of herself.

 

The ice dropped to the counter behind her with a dull thud, his hands coming to rest on either side of her neck, his fingers gently but insistently pulling her head back up. “Open your eyes, please.”

 

There was a crack of fear there, getting wider by the second, the sound of it tearing at her heart as she stubbornly strengthened her knees, regaining her balance. She lifted her chin, opening her eyes to try to give him a watery half-smile. “Let’s take a walk.”

 

His brow furrowed more deeply, if possible, all of his instincts likely calling for him to wrap her in a blanket and cart her off to the hospital, but she stilled his protests by taking his hand in hers and leading him towards the back door. Strength returned to her wobbly legs with every step, with every pace of distance put between her and her brother.

 

The fresh air helped, the warmth of the sun bleeding into the both of them as they walked. She had no destination in mind, truly, but found her feet taking them to the pond, something in her craving the peace and comfort of the babbling fountain in the middle of it. She found a bench underneath one of the large chestnut trees, the sunlight streaming through the leaves.

 

She tugged his hand as she sat, guiding him down beside her. Her mind was a whirl, words bubbling up from somewhere deep inside. “He wasn’t always like this, you know?” Her voice was subdued, the grip on his hand tightening. “I think he always missed Mother the most. He was always jealous that Rhaegar got more time with her.”

 

She kept her gaze fixed on the fountain, a group of ducklings playing in the water making her face twitch with the barest hint of a smile. “And then Father got to him. Rhaegar was too old to be controlled. I was too young, too stupid to be worth anything. He used to say that until my tits came in I was worth less than nothing to our House.”

 

His grip turned painful, and she dropped her other hand over their joined ones, rubbing the tension away until he got the idea, his fingers flexing open, allowing her to withdraw if she wanted.

 

She didn’t.

 

“I always wondered if things would have been different if she hadn’t died when I was born. Like, maybe she would have been able to soften them both? Maybe Rhaegar wouldn’t have died, maybe none of this would be happening.”  The ducklings continued to splash, her thumb idly brushing over his knuckles, slight bruising appearing— a reminder of what he had done, for her.

 

“Rhaegar always wanted to be a musician, you know?” She turned to look at him, finally. His lips were tight in either concentration, or holding himself back from inserting himself into her musings. “It’s why I started Rhaegar’s Harp as a music program first. He loved songs. He never wanted to design, that was my dream. But, he was good at it. Probably better than me, if I’m being honest.”

 

“I doubt that.”

 

She bit her lip against his soft words, her heart soaring with his support. “It’s true though,” she sighed, the fingers of her free hand picking at a string on her pants, a small tear that hadn’t been there before an hour ago. “But, part of growing up as a Targaryen means an innate understanding that family— _business_ comes first. Always.”

 

“Does that have to include Viserys?”

 

She smiled wanly at him. “One way or another he always gets what he wants.”

 

A shadow fell across his eyes, his displeasure apparent. They fell silent for a bit, watching the ducks play, the feeling of the summer breeze across her skin making her feel more herself than she had in a long time. Or, perhaps, it was the man beside her. Or neither, or both.

 

“Has he done this before?” He tensed as he asked it, as if he knew that her mind might rebel against the question, shield herself from him, shutting him out once and for all with the gentle push.

 

Slynt’s face swam in her vision, her teeth grinding in sudden frustration. “See?” She said softly, “That’s how you’re supposed to do this.” Jon face was a mask of confusion, but she squeezed his fingers, gathering her courage. He deserved the truth. “Yes.”

 

He clenched his jaw, the rage sudden and prominent. “It’s been a few years since it was this bad though. He’s using again.”

 

“That’s not an excuse.”

 

“I know,” but she didn’t know how to explain to him the depth of love she still felt for Viserys, her only family left in this world. To be alone would be worse. Somehow.

 

She stood, her hand falling from Jon’s careful grip, and folded her arms across her chest, doing her best to ignore the spike of pain there, the last rays of sunlight catching in his eyes. She’d lost track of time. They must have been out here for hours, if the slight pinkness to Jon’s face was any indication. She’d have to search through her medicine cabinet to find the salve she’d picked up in Dorne, his Northern skin unused to being exposed to the sun for so long.

 

He also stood, taking a moment to stretch, the lithe lines of his body making every movement as graceful as ever. “You know I won’t ever let him touch you again, aye?” The look he fixed her with was hard and heated, and a pulse of sudden want ran through her.

 

“I know,” she swallowed hard before adding, “You know that I meant what I said too. He won’t. _I_ won’t let it happen again. But, I do have to at least look for the possibility of forgiveness, try to help him if I can.”

 

His sigh was deep, his disagreement obvious, as he came to stand at her side. His hand once more found its way to her cheek, tenderly sweeping his thumb across the cut at the corner of her mouth as she desperately tried to stay still and not burrow her face into the heat of his palm, a tingling sensation pulsing through her lips as his touch lingered. “You don’t have to.”

 

“I want to.”

 

“As long as you realize you do have a choice,” his hand dropped away, his serious gaze fixed on her for a moment before they both turned, making their way across the lawn and back to the house.

 

She couldn’t help the small smile that crept across her face. “Thank you.”

 

“If I have to stop apologizin’, then you have to stop thankin’ me.” His voice was gruff, but she could hear the humor creeping in. She chuckled.

 

They walked in silence the rest of the way to the house, Jon only stopping her before they went inside to comm Grey and Jorah to find out Viserys’ whereabouts. Once he confirmed that Vis was in his room, he let her enter. Apparently, after pitching a bitch fit, Vis had fallen into a restless sleep and Doreah was keeping an eye on him until morning.

 

She ducked into her study briefly to grab her forgotten blazer, donning it, wincing a bit as it slipped over her aggravated bruises. She put her sketchbooks away, breathing a sigh of relief to find that the one Vis had been pawing through was, indeed, the one containing her sketches for the fall line, and not the one full of studies of Jon. This time, however, she locked the drawer that contained them and hid the key, taking no chances of anyone unwanted finding them. The broken glass had been cleared away, but her bookcase was still in shambles, figurines knocked askew, books jostled and uneven.

 

“I think I’m ready to try to sleep in my room again.”

 

There was no answer from behind her, Jon watching silently as she worked. Surprised, she glanced up at him, reeling from the sadness she found in his eyes, some kind of lostness. It resounded within her, making her want to stroke and soothe, but she couldn’t sleep in a room where she could still smell blood, her cheek starting to throb as the beating of her heart crashed against her ribs.

 

He only nodded, motioning for her to precede him out of the room, and shut the door behind them, the click of the catch sounding final and damning somehow. Though they walked up the stairs together, she keenly felt the loss of his hand in hers. Jon placed himself between her and Viserys’ door as they made their way past it to the stairs leading to her own wing. He nodded to Doreah and Jorah who had taken up residence outside her brother’s room, her bear taking a moment to wrap her in a hug as Jon spoke a few quiet words to Doreah.

 

She pulled away as gently as possible, the proximity to Vis’ room setting her teeth on edge, and tried to ignore the hurt in Jorah’s eyes as she turned, waiting at the foot of the stairs for Jon to join her. His hand found its way to the small of her back as she led the way to her room, pausing again as Jon opened the door to her bedroom and performed a quick sweep.

 

Once clear, he stepped past her into the hall, shoving his hands deeply into his pockets. “Need anythin’?”

 

_Yes. You._

 

She shook her head, unable to trust her tongue to say anything appropriate, and he nodded. “Goodnight then.”

 

“Night, Jon.”

 

She closed the door softly behind her, leaning her forehead against the doorframe for just a moment before turning to face the cavernous emptiness of her bedroom. It was warm, the air thick and close, making it difficult to draw a steady breath. Her bed loomed before her, imposing and intimidating.

 

_I’ll still be here even after you’re gone..._

 

His voice in her mind had her pulling a chair from the nook by her windows over to the door, shoving the back of it beneath the handle and throwing the lock for good measure. No use in taking unnecessary chances.

 

With that done, she stepped into the bathroom, not even bothering to look into the mirror as she stripped out of her clothing, done with inspecting the dark marks and bruises to her body. It was enough to know that everything ached, inside and out. She stepped into a scalding shower, hoping the heat of the water would remove some of the pain, relax her shoulders that refused to lower from around her ears, the tension coiled within her driving them upwards. Her thoughts were still too scattered to make much sense, the incredibly long day threatening to overwhelm her.

 

Once she had deemed herself sufficiently pruny, she stepped out and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel, making her way to her closet, wishing she could remember the code to the fucking window alarm so that she could open the window, and allow some of the stuffiness of the room to air out. Instead of her fleece pajamas, she slipped a peach silk nightgown over her head, taking care with her shoulder. Ties and braids decorated the bodice, just enough ornamentation to make her at least feel pretty, even if she didn’t look it, the cool feeling of the silk lovely against her tired and abused skin.

 

The rest of her nighttime ablutions were observed in quick succession— hair brushed and braided, lotion and creams applied, going through the motions soothing her, a light layer of the salve Jon had given her covering both her chest and cheek. She realized it smelled of him— light and woodsy.

 

She tapped her fingers on her vanity, wishing she had the presence of mind to bring one of her sketchbooks upstairs. She usually hated to bring work into her private space, wishing to keep business and rest separate, but…

 

She knew she was stalling— that she could avoid her bed no longer, a tendril of apprehension winding through her as she approached it. She stood at the foot, staring at her green bedspread before she ripped the covers off in a sudden panic, sure that something _else_ must be waiting for her beneath the sheets, something designed to torture, to frighten, to endure.

 

There was nothing, but actual sleep in that bed would be impossible, so she pulled all the pillows off, making herself a little nest between the bed and the door between their rooms.

 

The door…

 

Before she could talk herself out of it, or think herself weak for needing to see his face, she crossed to the hidden panel, knocking lightly. She heard the scramble from the other side and stepped back as the door flew open and Jon barreled through, gun in hand. His aim was low as he came through, his eyes snapping around for danger until he realized there was none.

 

She had caught him getting ready for bed, obviously— his hair loose and wet around his face, fresh from a shower, the pajama pants he wore slung low over his hips, his shirt forgone either for the heat or his haste to get to her. She had to keep herself from biting her lip as her eyes tracked the way the contours of his chest gave way to a V shaped muscle between his hips, the sudden desire to follow that shape with her tongue making her mouth run dry.

 

“Sorry!” She squeaked.

 

The thunder in his gaze cleared as he took her in as well, the heat between them building until he stepped back through the panel, firmly planting himself on his side. _Right… it’s the job._ It would do her some good to remember that, no matter what desires were racing through her.  “You ok?”

 

She nodded, her eyes rounding with effort to keep her gaze fixed upon his face, and not the rest of him. But, she found herself edging forward, forcing herself to remain on her side, not wanting to encroach on his space… much.  “I just…” she trailed off, feeling stupid now, his reaction making her think this might not have been her best idea.

 

He softened, tucking the gun into the waistband at his back, folding his arms across his chest as he stepped forward to lean against the door frame. “You sure?”

 

She nodded again, wetting her lips before finally blurting out, “Can this stay open? Just for tonight?”

 

He blinked, his mouth relaxing as sympathy took over, and maybe, _maybe_ just the tiniest bit of relief. “Aye.”

 

She shivered as she nodded, another thanks upon her lips until his eyes narrowed at her, reading her thoughts before she could say it aloud. She pressed her lips together, mirth dancing in her eyes for the briefest moment before he nodded and stepped back.

 

It took a moment for her to get her body to move, reaching to turn off the lamp on her bedside table before she could do something truly ill advised, burrowing her way into her nest of pillows and tangle of blankets and sheets on the floor before she lay back. There were a few sounds from the room next door, Jon shuffling through the rest of his nightly routine before his light also doused.

 

She didn’t sleep.

 

~*~*~

 

With his door closed behind him, Jon allowed himself a moment to slump against it, exhaustion taking over as the last of his adrenaline and anger fled him. She was tucked safely into her room, he had just seen to it, and yet the separation was gnawing at him, taunting him with reminders of what could happen when he wasn’t by her side.

 

A big gust of air left him and he straightened, taking the time to look at his hand to assess the damage done in his altercation with Viserys. There was no proof that it had ended up at the end of Vis’ nose other than a slight bruising over the knuckles, and a little soreness as he poked at it. Truth be told, he felt more injured on the inside, raw and aching as he had watched Dany wrestle with coming to terms with what happened.

 

He wondered if she realized that it was probably guilt that kept her from getting rid of her brother, that she somehow owed her last relative something. He’d had to clench his hand against the urge to push at her until she understood that it did not make her a bad person to cut ties with a person who was an abuser, who made her life one of the seven hells.

 

A knock interrupted his brooding, Robb’s voice announcing himself and Jon winced, realizing he probably should have at least sent a text to his brother while he was out there by the pond. But nothing had been on his mind by the water except Dany. He was losing the end of the threads, everything tangling into one big messy knot, his job and his feelings starting to blend until he could no longer tell them apart. He remembered the last time something like this happened and this seemed so much _more_ than that had been, it was slightly terrifying.

 

“You couldn’t have called?” Robb’s face was stern with disapproval as he shoved past, Jon closing the door behind him.

 

“Kinda busy.” He was not going to let his brother make him feel guilty about giving Dany his full attention. “And apparently I didn’t need to.”

 

“Just because I’m off duty doesn’t mean I don’t need to know about when the person under my protection gets his nose broken by the man in charge.”

 

Jon gritted his teeth, ready to punch _his_ brother, the surge of anger giving energy to his tired limbs. “You want to go see the bruise on her face, Robb?” Even Robb’s wince didn’t appease him. “First of all, I didn’t break his nose, and most importantly, he hit her. That doesn’t happen. At all. And _then_ he tried to come over the top of me. So, I stopped him.”

 

“You’re right.” Robb shook his head, and had the good sense to look abashed. “You’re right, Jon. I guess I just didn’t like hearing it second hand.”

 

Moving across the room, needing some space, he shrugged out of his shoulder holster, removed his gun and dropped the magazine, giving himself a moment to eject the bullet in the chamber, then reloaded it, the motion familiar and calming. “I feel like you have more to say.” There was a look on Robb’s face, one that he hated, something that told him they were all spectators, waiting for him to crumble.

 

“I just feel like-“ There was a pause. “I didn’t just get here... I’ve been here for the past hour. I checked in with Doreah and then went out looking for you.”

 

That choking feeling was there again and his fingers gripped the edge of the dresser as he tried to ground himself. “So?”

 

“I worry that you’re getting too attached.” There was a softness now with the worry, making Jon want to snarl. “Jon, right now she’s a job.”

 

“She’s a person, Robb, who’s had a shitty life and nobody to watch her back.” The air was rushing through his lungs as he turned to square up with his brother, something in the back of his mind telling him that he was only proving Robb correct with his reactions. “Everyone in her life seems to turn a blind eye and just let her deal with it. I’m not someone who can do that.”

 

“That’s the problem.” Robb stepped closer, blue eyes narrowed. “Because you are not that person, and it always ends up breaking you.”

 

Visions of a past life swam into his vision— red hair, a crooked smile, blood seeping from a bullet hole in pale skin. “Fuck you.”

 

“Really?” Hands pulled at auburn curls in frustration. “That's how we’re doing this?”

 

“Aye.” He crossed his arms, a sure sign of stubbornness, and concentrated on breathing, caging the metallic taste of his ire. “That’s how we’re going to do this.”

 

“Fine.” Robb’s face set into a look that Jon imagined matched his. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

 

He didn’t bother to see his brother out, slowly counting to ten, trying to slow the rushing of his blood, trying to see Robb’s view of it. But he couldn’t, not when he could still feel the soft heat of Dany’s face in his palms, how she absorbed easy touches, making his heart twist that she had done so long without.

 

With the door shut again, finally alone in his room, he put himself back into his routine— a shower to ease tension from rigid muscles, his forehead pressed to the wall as water ran down his back. He pondered Robb’s concerns, a heaviness in his stomach, a worry that he might not be enough, his failings weighing heavily in his chest. She had put her faith in him and he couldn’t let her down.

 

Dragging himself out of the shower and away from those thoughts, he went over a plan to keep Viserys and Daenerys separated, half listening for movement on the other side of his wall.

 

The soft knock had him scrambling, almost stumbling as he pulled up his pajama pants, years of training leaving him as he grabbed his gun, making him frantic, yanking open the door, ready to sweep down, pull her from harm.

 

But it was just her, looking soft and vulnerable, surprise in her eyes as she took in the gun in his hand, his body catching up to his brain that there was no danger.

 

“Sorry!”

 

Her voice was high pitched and startled, face pink and he realized belatedly that she was looking at his abdomen, something more than surprise there. He was caught then, in that moment, mind slowing down and he could feel the heat building, couldn’t miss the high outline of her breasts under that pink silk, his lungs forgetting how to work.

 

Somehow he found the strength to move back to his side of the door, needing that invisible line, the boundary to keep them separated, wondering what her reaction would be if he pulled her into his room and threw her up on the bed, unraveled her out of that tempting nightdress.

 

_Stop it._

 

“You ok?” He needed to end that other line of thinking. She was bruised and exposed, making it easy to accept any advance from him, something she’d regret later on.

 

“I just…” She made a shrugging motion, still rattled and he needed to remember that giving her some comfort was an entirely different level than wanting her in his bed. The latter was inappropriate. For now.

 

“You sure?” There was something else there, he knew, and he wanted— needed her to tell him.

 

“Can this stay open? Just for tonight?”

 

She had rushed the words as if she barely had the nerve to say them and he relaxed, mind slowing, trying not to feel too relieved that she wasn't quite ready to close a door between them either. “Aye.”

 

That pretty mouth opened again, no doubt to thank him and he narrowed his eyes, hoped she could see the jest as he stopped her words of thanks. She needed to stop doing that, it just made all of him churn with confusion. It was his job, but he’d do it anyway, couldn’t say no to helping her.

 

He moved away first, both of them suspended in a strange limbo and he needed to break it, not offer her anything else. He’d wholeheartedly give whatever she needed, but she would have to ask first.

 

Returning his gun to its new spot on his nightstand, he doused his light, crawled into bed to stare up at the ceiling while she crawled into her blankets. He hadn’t missed the fact that she had made a bed on the floor, the urge to offer to switch rooms on the tip of his tongue, hating she felt so uneasy in what should be her safe place. But he stayed silent, letting her work it out on her own.

 

He closed his eyes but never found sleep.

 

~*~*~

 

“Fuck.”

 

Tyrion’s succinct reaction as he opened the door to his office cemented her decision to avoid mirrors until her cheek had healed, no doubt the bruise spreading and mixing with the bags under her eyes that came from yet another night of restless tossing and turning, no sleep, and nightmares chasing her through even her waking thoughts. This time with the added benefit of knowing that her brother, who may or may not have been plotting her death, was only a floor away— the only barriers between them a flight of stairs, and a rickety chair shoved under her doorknob.

 

And Jon. Of course.

 

He’d been stuck like a burr to her side all morning, and Dany found that she couldn’t bring herself to be as annoyed by it as she once might have been, her face warming even now as he edged into her space.

 

“Did he even think about the fact that you have an interview tomorrow. On television?”

 

She reached for Jon before he could bristle too much, her small hand gripping his muscled forearm. “Is there another time that smashing my face would have been more convenient? I’ll wait if you need to consult with Missandei about my calendar first.”

 

Tyrion had the good grace to look ashamed of himself, a flush of embarrassment flooding across his features. “Of course not, my dear. I’m sorry. We might need to call the plastic surgeon to look at your lip th—”

 

Dany brushed past him, her lack of sleep making her more impatient and waspish than she usually allowed. “We’ll need to prepare the guest house for Viserys. The maids will also need to do a full sweep, remove all the alcohol, etc. I doubt he’ll voluntarily go back to rehab this time, and I don’t know if he’s called his sponsor after yesterday’s… episode.”

 

Tyrion followed as she sat in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, motioning for Jon to take a seat beside her. “So, that’s a no on the maester then?” He took his own chair.

 

She sighed. “His ring caught on my lip. I’ll heal.”  

 

“But, if it scars--”

 

“Then, I’ll have a scar, Tyrion. Who knows, maybe it will make my face more appealing. Aren’t you always the one telling me to find beauty in the imperfect as well?” She folded her hands into her lap, trying to regain her control, not particularly sure why she was taking so much frustration out on Tyrion, of all people. He was only trying to help, in his own way.

 

“Daenerys…” And now he was looking at her with hurt in his eyes, and her cheek was throbbing in time with every tick Jon’s watch made, still strapped safely around her wrist.

 

She closed her eyes, huffing an irritated breath out of her nose. “Tyrion, we have more pressing matters to attend to today. Viserys needs to be moved. We need to talk about my interview yesterday with the City Watch. I need to call the Board and start conversations about my new liaison initiative, _and_ we have to prep for whatever this talk show is and I’m tired, so if we could please—” She dropped her head into her hands, hissing as her fingers bumped her cheek, the pain searing through her face, both men frozen and unsure how to deal with her outburst.

 

Until _his_ hand found her back, rubbing gently in a small circular motion. It was simple, nothing more than a concerned touch, and yet she could feel herself melting under it, the throbbing in her face subsiding. “I want him out of the manse. Today.”

 

She could feel them exchanging glances over her bowed head, Tyrion’s voice careful. “It may be easier if we were to relocate you—”

 

Her head snapped back up, fixing Tyrion with a hard glare. “I’m not interested in _easier_. I didn’t do anything wrong, and for once, I know that. So he can move. I’m done running, Tyrion. Make it happen.”

 

She paused, her teeth gritting. “Please.” She forced it out, knowing how deeply her friend did care. He was just garbage at consoling her. Always had been.

 

“I will see to it.”

 

“Thank you.” She huffed out a breath and sat back, Jon’s hand coming to rest on the arm of his own chair. She already missed the feel of it on her. She stole a glance at him, not quite sure what to expect, but it wasn’t the admiration she saw in his eyes, a brightness that stole what was left of her breath for the barest of moments.

 

She cleared her throat, casting about wildly back to Tyrion, his own eyes narrowed in suspicion. “The City Watch may also be contacting you, my interview was…” she trailed off, risking another look to Jon for help.

 

“A disaster,” he supplied.

 

“They seem to have no leads. Just some crazy theory about chickens coming home to roost? They showed us some aerial photos of two factories, allegedly owned by House Targaryen in Ghiscar, outside of Astapor. Do you know anything about it?”

 

Tyrion’s brow furrowed in confusion. “There’s only the plant in Pentos.”

 

Dany nodded. “That’s what I told Slynt. He didn’t believe me, so I told him if he had more questions for me to direct them through you, and we left.” She took a deep breath, trying to settle herself, her hands feeling tingly and foreign. “When we got back, I asked Vis about it, hoping he would be able to tell me why the City Watch has pictures of lines of children outside of a factory supposedly owned by us. That’s when this happened.” She motioned to her cheek.

 

Jon sat forward in the chair, his forearms balanced on his knees, his eyes searching hers. “That’s why he hit you?”

 

“He’s hiding something.” It was difficult to admit, but it was the only clear conclusion she had come to during her restless night of tossing and turning and listening to Jon do the same through the open door between them. Viserys was up to something, and she didn't know what it could be— nothing good.

 

She tore her eyes away from Jon’s calculating gaze, turning to Tyrion. “I need you to find out what you can. Vis was drunk yesterday, so he may not have been able to alert Baelish as to what the Watch knows, he might have. I don’t know.”

 

Tyrion sighed, his hand clasping the bridge of his nose. “I’ll see what I can dig up.”

 

“The kids looked young, Tyrion.” She could feel her heart squeeze in her chest at the mere thought that Viserys could be involved in something so horrific, but his reaction had left little doubt in her mind that Tyrion would uncover something nefarious. Although now, she also felt like a fool for not seeing his potential for inflicting pain on anyone other than her.

 

“I’ll hurry.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Now, about Renly—”

 

“I know how to handle Renly, I just need to know what he’s going to be asking.” She could hear the cattiness in her voice, but couldn’t make it stop.

 

“ _Handle_ Renly?”

 

She turned to Jon with a smirk. “You remember Oberyn, right?” He nodded and her smile grew. “Just wait.”

 

Tyrion shuffled through the papers on his desk. “Let’s see. They want to talk about the CFDW award, so expect questions about that, the usual ‘what’s new for fall’, and of course, try to avoid talking about the threats on your life if you can. You know the drill. Keep it light.”

 

She nodded, settling her hands on her knees as she pushed herself out of her chair, Jon rising to his feet in sync with her. “Anything else?”

 

“They always want you to do the stage door autograph line.” She looked to Jon, catching the wince at the extra work. She raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Your call.”

 

His slow smile unfolded like a flower, heat blooming low in her belly at the sight of it, his face transforming before her at the display of confidence in his abilities. In him. “I’ll see what we can make happen.”

 

~*~*~

 

The soft scent of her perfume was driving him slightly mad. It was something light that reminded him of spring and sunshine, something bright and shiny. It fit her well, wrapping into his senses as the outside heat came in through the car windows, only muted by the quiet whirring of the air conditioner.

 

Maybe he was hallucinating, worn down on the edges, the nights of barely any sleep catching up with them all. Still, his nerves were stuck permanently on high alert, even with Tyrion’s promise to get Viserys out of the manse, the prospect of putting her back out among crowds making him shift uneasily in his seat.

 

“You’re fidgeting.”

 

A small hand dropped over his forearm and he sucked in a breath, her touch not having the calming effect she probably hoped for. No, it seeped into his skin, lingering there, a red flag going off somewhere in his brain. They were getting too comfortable with each other, neither one seemingly willing to be the first to step back. “Aye.”

 

An eyebrow arched at him and his short response, Missandei snickering from the other side of the car. Daenerys was wedged in between them, her shoulder pressed firmly to his as if it were the most normal thing in the world. And, fuck, maybe it was right now, Robb’s pointed looks still stuck in his head, mingling with the newly found fire Daenerys was stoking, his confidence starting to build back up. She trusted him, that knowledge keeping his heart held tightly, and she was letting herself step out of the meek shell she had been forced into.

 

“How hard to you think Renly is going to go?” Missandei’s voice broke off his dangerous thoughts and he turned his head to watch Dany’s lips turn up, bruise and swelling diminished under her light makeup.

 

“At questioning me or trying to seduce Jon?”

 

He groaned then, rolled his eyes for their benefit as both women laughed, more worried about getting her to and from the car than getting hit on. Inside, security was better— Jorah already there and doing a sweep. Grey’s careful plan had been well done as Jon had looked over his shoulder.

 

“Fun at my expense, is it?” The car rolled neatly to the sidewalk and Jon straightened a bit, missing Daenerys’ warmth as she moved away from his side, adjusting her dress. Fuck, he needed some sleep, his eyes watching her legs disappear under her skirt for a moment longer than necessary.

 

The door opened just as his hand reached the handle, Jorah’s scowl at finding him and not Daenerys almost making him smirk. The sounds of the city hit his ears, his senses going on full alert as he stepped out, using his body to block the open door.

 

“We go in there.” Jorah pointed straight ahead to the side stage exit, Jon automatically judging the distance.

 

“Locked?” With the other man’s nod he blew out a breath, went to adjust his watch on his empty wrist. He gave a narrowed eyed look over his shoulder at Dany’s chuckle, the smile on her face rolling some of the tension off his shoulders. “Go open it, Jorah, and we’ll come right through.”

 

Watching the crowds as Jorah crossed the sidewalk, he mentally counted the six seconds it took to clear the space. “Ready?” He kept an eye out as he offered his hand, felt the tingle as Dany’s slid into his, his grip easy but firm as he helped her out of the car.

 

He heard Grey helping Missandei, but didn’t look back, Dany’s smaller form pulled into his side as he moved them swiftly, nodding to Jorah as they went through the door, his breath held until they were in the building, out of the public eye.

 

“Ms. Targaryen.” Jon stiffened as the tall blond woman appeared in front of them, her face serious, and a tablet in her hand. “Welcome to _Late Night_. I’m Brienne.”

 

“Ah, Renly’s assistant.” Her voice was light, body relaxed against his hand at the small of her back as Jorah and Grey closed in around them. “I’m happy to be here. Anything I need to know right now?”

 

“No. You’ll have a moment with Renly before you go on.” She checked something on her screen, then squinted at Dany, taking in her appearance. “Your dressing room is right down there.” She pointed, Missandei and Jorah already moving that direction, a garment bag thrown over the former’s arm. “Is there anything you need?”

 

Dany stiffened for a moment, and he moved in closer, eyes swinging around to see what startled her, a hand covering her upper arm, thumb rubbing an apology before he gripped her, ready to move her as needed.

 

“I’d like to be shot from my right side. My assistant called earlier?”

 

The air coming out of his lungs moved her hair, tickling his nose, as it registered in his mind that she was trying to keep her swollen face from being shown to all of Westeros. Anger again brewed and bubbled as he let go and took a step back, ignoring Brienne’s widened blue eyes, no doubt confused by dark look on his face.

 

“Absolutely.” She nodded and turned, leading the way past the array of crew members. As the walked, Jon checked that escape routes matched the blueprints, the heat of Dany’s skin seeping into his palm as he guided her forward.

 

“All clear.” Jorah popped out a room, holding the door as Missandei ducked inside and Jon nodded to Grey, sending him in before moving Dany through the doorway, the lights from the vanity making him blink for a moment.

 

“I’ll let you settle in and then I’ll be back in an hour. We’ll see if we have any last minute details.” Brienne spoke from outside the dressing room before disappearing from Jon’s view, leaving a blur of strangers as they went about their business.

 

“It’s a little crowded in here.” Her voice pulled him from his duty, and he glanced down, realizing belatedly that it was a rather small space to fit four bodies. His hand dropped back into his side, fingers curling with the lack of contact.

 

With a nod of dismissal, he sent Grey from the room, Missandei ignoring them all to hang up the bag, smooth down it’s contents. “You ok?” He crowded back into her space as she turned, hating the thought of the door closing between them, knowing fully well it shouldn't matter. She was safe there, he had confirmed it.

 

“Yes.” She was peering up at him, studying his face intently, and he stepped back to give them both space to breathe. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

 

There was lead in his boots as he turned and made himself move away from her, the handle turning easily even if reluctantly, the click sounding loud in his ears as he closed the door between them. Standing in the hallway, he cupped the back of his neck, forcing himself back into the role of the unflappable bodyguard, the weathered man of the Night’s Watch, and away from this new Jon Snow that was developing in the presence of Daenerys Targaryen.

 

“I want you stationed behind the audience.” He let his gaze flicker to Grey for a moment. “You and Jorah do another sweep.” Both men nodded their agreement, safety a priority and the controlling part of him wanted to scour the building, the larger need to keep within an arm's reach of her.

 

He could hear muted voices from his post, sharper notes of laughter from behind the closed door, the rock in his chest shrinking as Daenerys came back out from under the shadow of her brother, bruises not enough to keep her down, his own guilt tucked firmly away where it couldn’t impact his performance.

 

Light footsteps were behind him, the door opening quickly. Dei slipped through and he caught a glimpse of a bared back, black lacy fabric standing in contrast to pale skin. He swallowed roughly, heat burning in his veins as he swung back around, fixing his gaze to a blank spot on the wall in front of him.

 

“I forgot her earrings in the car. Can you call Grey?”

 

Certain his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, he nodded, rasped out over the comms, “Can you take Missandei out to the car please,” before latching his hands behind his back, keeping twitching fingers still.

 

Minutes started to tick by, a familiar routine of being wary and alert actually starting to relax him, muscle memory taking over with the knowledge she was tucked into the room behind him and humming softly to whatever music she had playing in there.

 

The sound of the door opening behind him made him to turn, maintaining his body block of the doorway as she peeked out at him, the smudges of makeup creating some sort of magic he didn’t understand— the blue more brilliant, eyes impossibly larger.

 

“Can you help me for a moment?”

 

Wordless, he nodded, stepping into the dressing room that now carried the scent he associated with her, something inside him craving the smell. He closed them off from the world again, noting that she’d slipped into a black dress, the pale skin looking even smoother, and he curled his fingers into his palm.

 

“Dei isn’t back and I’m impatient.” She motioned awkwardly at her back. “Will you zip this up please?”

 

He was certain he heard his brain fizzle before it stopped working, fingertips growing itchy with want as he stared stupidly at the buttons that adorned the front of her dress. “Zipper?” There was a bit of lace flirting around the front, keeping her modestly covered, just enough to tempt.

 

“The buttons are for show only.” There was a sudden husk to her voice and he forced his gaze up where it belonged, on her face, where she seemed to just realize the simple task might not be so simple for him.

 

It would be easy to turn away, walk right back out that door and wait for Missandei, hide himself behind the job and keep his distance. But, she was already turning, gathering her hair to the side, offering up the back of her slim neck, the cause of all his dilemma stuck level with the black of her bra.

 

Fingers reached out without his command, rebelling against every rule he had memorized since Ned Stark deemed him old enough to learn their trade, a soft hold taken on the pull of the zipper as he stared at the skin available for his eyes, the low buzz running through him loud enough to drown out the sounds of any hesitation.

 

To further torture himself, suddenly needy and weak, his free hand landed on her shoulder, thumb sweeping up the notches of her spine and it was right there at the tip of his tongue, the want to follow the trail with his mouth, taste her skin as the zipper slid shut with a sigh, closing down that idea almost as quickly as it had come to him

 

There was the sound of ragged breathing, but Jon was certain his lungs weren’t working and he allowed himself look up, to see her staring back at him in the mirror. The locked gazes, the darkening of her eyes awakening something inside him that had been dormant for so long, and suddenly he had the urge to sweep his thumb over the plump mouth that was adorned in red, see if the color would stain his skin. Instead, he pushed the limit on his control again, fingers straightening the mass of silver back behind her, skimming over the nape of her neck as a substitute for wanting to put his mouth there.

 

The sound of the door handle rattling seeped into his brain, and he pulled his hands back, keeping his eyes locked with hers until the very last possible moment, Missandei sweeping in victoriously, earrings firmly in her grasp.

 

He took the opportunity to escape, breaking away from the gaze that was somehow both drowning him and reviving him, leaning back against the door to finally get a gulp of air and reevaluate just how close to the edge he was walking.

 

~*~*~

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, none other than _the_ Daenerys Targaryen!”

 

With a roll of her shoulders, she walked away from his side, his hands clenching to keep from reaching out for her again. The crowd reacted enthusiastically to her presence and he made himself look away from her form, moving to the audience. They had all been through a rigorous security check— bag searches, metal detectors— with a suspicious few patted down, all overseen by Jorah, who was rapidly coming around to Jon’s way of thinking. His anxiety was bubbling, but on low, feeling fairly confident in the safety measures.

 

She had reached the desk, Renly meeting her for a polite exchange of cheek kisses and Jon watched the bubbly expression on her face waiver for a moment. He shifted his weight, Missandei glancing over at him.

 

“Renly’s seen her face and I’m sure she just told him it’s off limits. No danger yet.”

 

He exhaled through his nose, not sure that he liked the fact that Dei had picked up on his body language, but he excused it as the fact they’d had a very trying few days, and not because he was still standing back in that dressing room, the warmth of her under his hands nothing compared to the blazing look in her eyes.

 

He _had_ seen that, right? It was hard to remember now that the haze had worn off, putting distance between them as he had stayed on his side of the door until she was ready, not quite willing to look her directly in the eye again. He was afraid of what he’d see, of how badly he wanted to see it.

 

The lights dimmer as a clip played and he allowed it to pull him out of his spiral, seeing Daenerys in the same seat she was currently occupied, a rather large python being placed around her neck. While she was blindfolded.

 

His heart slammed into his ribs, all sorts of evocative images that were so _not_ appropriate racing through his mind, and he had to look away, had to pretend he was not having all sorts of depraved thoughts.

 

“Ah yes, to see if she could tell the difference between real snakeskin and faux. That clip was quite popular.”

 

They were talking fashion up there under the lights and he went back to scanning the crowds, running a quick check on comms as he spotted Grey and Jorah in their designated spots. They had Dany in a triangle, and he eyeballed the distance, even though he already knew it took twenty steps. He’d tested it, but it was a decent distraction from worrying over losing the impulse control he had been carefully honing since childhood.

 

“Now, I hear that House Targaryen is about to be honored next week at the Council of Fashion Designers of Westeros Awards?”

 

“Yes, my brother Rhaegar is being posthumously awarded the Alysanne Award for Positive Change in Fashion, and my other brother, Viserys, and I will be accepting on behalf of House Targaryen.”

 

That caught his attention, as did her hands twisting in her lap, and he tipped towards Missandei as his mind thought over their schedule and came up blank. “An award ceremony?” He kept his voice low, ignoring the look of annoyance the stage manager shot him.

 

“Hmmm? Oh, yes. Next Saturday. Didn’t we go over that?”

 

They certainly had not, but he fought down his own impatience at the surprise, acknowledging that Viserys had interrupted their meeting. “No. We need to sit down again apparently.”

 

The urge to cross his arms was strong as he listened to her explain the awards, the planes of her face softening as she spoke about her brother, and the edges of his heart ached for her, knowing exactly how lost she was, or had been.

 

“Well, as some of you may be aware,” she had turned to address the audience directly, that brilliant smile on her face, and he was just as enraptured as everyone else. “House Targaryen has worked incredibly hard for the past 10 years to change the rising tide of Fashion into something sustainable, not only for the environment, but for all the people around the world who are involved in the making of our clothing.”

 

Applause broke out, making his earpiece squelch for a moment and he twitched, adjusted his comms, and caught the low noise Missandei made in the back of her throat. Taking a moment to glance at her, he could see the tightness around her mouth, fingers gripping her phone tightly.

 

“Thank you! We’ve striven to establish fair trade practices with the free cities of Essos, as well as employing over 400 underprivileged local Westerosi who do the majority of our manufacturing. That means everything from construction of our pieces, to supply chain/distribution, to packaging, and so on, all between our offices in King’s Landing, and our manufacturing plant in Pentos. The CFDW has decided after ten years of growth and prosperity, and making a difference in the lives of those that were previously exploited— to the benefit of some of the other fashion Houses— to award House Targaryen a special commendation, and we hope that more fashion houses will see the benefits and follow suit soon!”

 

There was definitely something in Daenerys’ words that was striking a cord within the other woman, and keeping his eyes on the gleam of silver hair, he leaned a bit into Dei’s space. “What’s wrong? What is she talking about?”

 

For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer, a cold look coming into normally warm brown eyes. “She’s not talking about it— she’s skimming the edge of it, making it graspable for the general public. Slave labor.”

 

“Slave labor?”

 

“Yes.” She snapped her gaze to him and he was shocked by the fury residing in there. “The fashion industry is built upon the backs of child slavery— little hands of stolen children.”

 

“That’s awful.” His stomach churned, thinking of all those children safely gathered under the roof of Rhaegar’s Harp, instead being sold and treated worse than feral animals.

 

“You have no idea.” It was a choked sound.

 

“You know though, don’t you?” He was prying now, knew it was really none of his business. They all carried ghosts and scars. “You don’t have to answer that.”

 

There was a long enough silence that he thought she wouldn’t and he turned back to focus on Daenerys as she breezed over the events of Oberyn’s show, his jaw clenched with the memory and the turn of fortune that seemed to be building off that unfortunate incident.

 

“My brother and I ended up in it.” It was a jolt of electricity, Missandei’s quiet words dragging a ragged breath out of him. “I made it out.”

 

The _he didn’t,_ was obvious, the words not needed and he fumbled, at a loss of what to say, a little stunned that she had found herself in the same industry that had done so much harm. “Gods. I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be. You are not responsible.” It was a firm response and he wisely closed his mouth, sensing the subject done.

 

“Of course, which is why we must all strive, _together_ , to bring about this positive change in the world. So far, House Targaryen has been standing alone, but I think it’s time for more to join us, don’t you?”

 

“Well I, for one, love to end on a call for action!” The crowd applauded again he watched her stand, Renly standing with her, and she offered her hand, Renly bending over it to give it a kiss. “Ladies and Gentlemen— Daenerys Targaryen.”

 

The music from the house band _The Stags_ kicked up a lively beat and the red light on the camera winked out, the spot lights diminishing as she gave Renly a brief hug, and stepped down from the platform, hurrying offstage and he moved forward, ignoring the thrumming in his veins as he reached her side.

 

“Well, the masses seem to love you.” He tried for light, the clear blue of her eyes searching him as he offered out his arm politely, trying to gather around the scattered professionalism.

 

A toss of her head had the bright hair falling over her shoulder. “They love everyone. Dei, are you okay?” She let go of his arm to hug her friend. “I forgot to warn you he was going to ask about the award—“

 

“I know. It’s fine.”

 

Stepping back to her side, he tried to ignore her soft scent, instead focused on Jorah and Grey coming back. “How long until you’re ready?” He held his ground as she moved into his space, arm threading through his.

 

“I’m ready now. I’m going sign on the way out so I’ll stay in this.”

 

“Outside?” He growled when she nodded a response. He’d expected the autographs, but out in the open had not been part of the plan, and something inside him clenched, the warning bells going off in his head. He cupped her elbow, turning into her, ignoring her toes bumping into his. “There is no way to keep the environment controlled.”

 

The smile she gave him was sly, something slightly infuriating, and he wanted to taste it, see if it would ignite a fire in him. “I guess you’re going to be stuck to me then.”

 

“Daenerys.” It was a huff of exasperation, not at all the sound of a man in charge, and he hated himself for it as soon as it came out. He _was_ getting twisted up over her— fucking Robb was right about that— and he just needed to figure out if he was going to continue down that path— or not.

 

“If you say no, then we skip it. Like I said, your call.”

 

Her slight weight leaned into him as she tilted her head and smiled, his heart skipping a beat at the sight, another step down the path of the forbidden. “Grey, go get the car and take Missandei with you. Let me know when you’re parked. I want you outside the car and watching the crowd. Jorah, you’ve got our back.”

 

Both men nodded, Grey took the garment bag from Dei and they disappeared around the corner of the hall. Impatience rolled through him, not quite wanting to meet her eyes, lest she see the leftover heat in them as he remembered what the expanse of that pale skin looked like underneath that black dress.

 

“Jon.”

 

She spoke quietly, and he fought the urge to melt, looking down at her, opening his mouth to ask her what she wanted, needed, when—

 

“Daenerys!”

 

Annoyance had him tearing his gaze away to see Renly Baratheon heading towards them, studying him and Dany with curiosity written on his face. It irritated him, causing him to stand ramrod straight, squaring his shoulders.

 

“Darling, you are such a good sport. Thank you for being here.”

 

She let out a noise that could be called a laugh, something similar she had used on Oberyn, he noted, the sound letting him know she didn’t find the talk show host as charming as he found himself. “Thank you for inviting me. It’s always nice to use a something like this as a platform for getting things out there.” She gave a smile that was more bared teeth than anything else. “However, if you keep ambushing me on your show I’m going to find the need to be busy doing other things.”

 

“It’s nothing personal, you know that. You’re far too brilliant to be caught unaware.” The gaze was flickering back and forth between him and Daenerys, until Renly couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “Are you going to introduce me?”

 

“Renly Baratheon, this is Jon Snow, my bodyguard.” He was certain he was the only one to hear her sigh and he wanted to press in closer but rigidly held his ground.

 

“Bodyguard? I didn’t realize they came in that sort of pretty. You make sure to keep our girl safe.”

 

He had to unlock his jaw before he could speak. “No worries on that front, her safety is the only thing that matters.”

 

Another appraising look was sent their way, and he could feel Daenerys looking at him with that vulnerable expression in her eyes. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting, despising every misstep and his inability to stay professional around her.

 

“Car is ready.”

 

Relief washed over him as he unhooked his arm from hers, letting his hand settle into the small of her back, a perfect fit. “Let’s go.”

 

Jorah led the way, holding the door open and they both paused in the threshold, blinking against the bright of the sun. He reached into his jacket pocket and found his sunglasses, murmuring for her to wait as he reached into his other pocket where he had placed Dany’s after Missandei had handed them to him.

 

A chorus of happy fans started up, an uncomfortable itch crawling over his skin as she slid on her sunglasses and plastered a big smile on her face, the tension rising in his muscles as he moved with her to the crowd.

 

She was well versed in this, voice cheerful as she signed and chatted, his fingers keeping a light contact with her back as he mentally gauged the distance between them and the car. He stayed close enough that she kept bumping into him, ignoring the low heat in his stomach as unease rippled over him.

 

_Nothing was going to happen today. She would be fine._

 

They were just about to the end of the line, his eyes on the open door, his hand twitching against her dress in anticipation when she made a low noise of surprise. At her hiss of pain he could hear the blood roar in his ears as he closed in around her, slamming her back to his front, banding an arm around her waist, and prepared to rip her off her feet, to dive into the protection of the car.

 

“Ouch! Jon don’t move.”

 

He froze as her body went rigid against him, Daenerys holding her hair, and he realized someone had the end of it, a growl bubbling up in his chest. He grabbed the slim wrist, ready to snap bones, his anger rising up that somebody would _dare_ try and hurt her.

 

“Jon!” Dany’s hand fell over his, stalling his violent reaction, the surprise in her voice making him look again, the owner of the wrist staring at him with scared green eyes. “My hair is caught.”

 

Following the fall of silver, he moved down the girl’s arm, seeing the tangled ends of Dany’s hair caught in a bracelet. He blew out a breath, let his eyes flutter for a moment in relief, shoulders dropping as adrenaline fled his system. With a shuffle forward he gave them slack, the young woman looking terrified as he reached around Daenerys with his other arm, keeping her boxed into him as he helped free her from the clasp.

 

Finally they were able to step back, and he knew he should give her space, back away from the firm press of her body against him, but he hooked her under the elbows, dropping his mouth close to her ear. “Let’s call it a day.”

 

She craned her head to look at him, a wrinkle between her brows but her lips were slightly parted, enticing and forbidden, and he could feel the heat weaving between them, making him forget for a moment exactly why they were standing there.

 

“Daenerys!” Cameras whirred with the occasional flash, Jorah’s voice jolting him back to reality and it suddenly came crashing around him that they were standing on the sidewalk and gathering more than a few curious glances.

 

“I’m ready.”

 

Pulling himself back together, he finally gave them space between their bodies, missing the contact as soon as they separated, his hand hovering behind her as they moved forward. He was jittery and jumpy as he helped her into the car, settling himself in beside her as Jorah closed the door.

 

“Jon.” Her hand landed on his forearm, his hand clenching. “You almost broke that poor girl's wrist.”

 

The car started moving forward, easing into traffic and he replayed it all in his head, every move they had made after they left the safety of the building. “I know.” He shook his head, his senses clouded with _Daenerys._ “I reacted.”

 

“I’m not angry.” The small hand tightened until he looked at her, into the soft blue of her eyes that made him want to grab ahold of her and not let go. “It was just surprising.” The corners of her mouth curled up. “I shouldn’t be at this point.”

 

With her words conveying her belief, she settled into her seat, the bruise on her cheek standing out below the smudge of makeup making his insides twist with the confusion of everything else rolling through him. Her safety was the priority, not his attraction.

 

He needed to remember that.

 

~*~*~

 

Remembering that was proving to be more difficult than he had imagined. Jon wasn’t sure why he was surprised, she had slowly been weaving into his bones from their first meeting, her fiery depths soaking into the cold that had surrounded him for so long.

 

But, still, she wasn’t some random woman he had met, no, not at all. She was a woman whose life was in danger, who was very much depending on his expertise to keep her alive. Being distracted was dangerous, for her— for him.

 

He repeated that mantra over and over, the two days of downtime giving him time to retreat into his office, leaving her to sketching away in her study, his nerve endings crackling with the separation, conflicting with his mind’s need to be away from her.

 

Viserys had finally finished moving into the guest house, Daenerys watching it from the kitchen window with sadness etched on her face. Jon desperately wanted to go and gather her up, give her comfort, something he might have done before that startling moment in the dressing room, reading the want on his face, on hers.

 

But, it appeared she would not willfully ignore it as he was trying to do. The cloud of steam followed him out of the shower Monday morning as he buttoned up his pants, towel still slung over his shoulder.

 

“You’re up early.”

 

Her voice startled him, not at all prepared for her perched on the edge of his bed wearing nothing but one of those ridiculous silky nightdresses. Why was she so hells bent on driving him insane?

 

“Weekend is over.” Lust settled somewhere in the region of his groin, but he ignored it to rub the towel against his wet hair, moving slowly towards her, deciding that two could play this game, her gaze stuck somewhere in the area of his abdomen.

 

Fair was fair, he decided as he reached down beside her, close enough to smell the lotion on her skin, his mouth practically watering with the urge to put marks in the smooth flesh of her neck. Her sharp inhale let him know that he had the same effect on her that she had on him.

 

It was torture.

 

“Very true.” Her voice wavered as he snagged his shirt and stepped back. “But, my schedule is empty.” Those pretty eyes narrowed at him. “Unless you’re up early because you have something planned that you didn’t want everyone to know about.”

 

His grin was hidden as he slipped the grey shirt over his head. “Clever.”

 

“Maybe I find you easy to read.”

 

That filled his chest with warmth despite his attempt to ignore it. “Perhaps you do.” He knew she was curious, but he decided to string her along a bit, revenge for coming into his room looking soft and rumpled, like every fantasy his mind could conjure up.

 

She stayed silent, watching as he slipped on his belt, then put on his shoulder holster, pretended his palms didn’t itch with the urge to touch her. “You’re not dressing up.” He turned to see her tapping a well manicured finger against her chin. “And I doubt you would try to spring a formal event on me.”

 

Even though he knew it was loaded, he dropped the magazine of his gun, pulled back the slide and emptied the chamber before reversing the steps, thumbing the bullet back into the magazine, popping it in, loading one before tucking it into its spot on his side, the weight comforting. “I would be out of my depth with that, plus Missandei would never allow it.”

 

“Now who’s the clever one.” She shifted, that slip of fabric way too short for his own sanity, one little push and it would be higher up on her thighs, giving him access—

 

He turned his body away from her, closing his eyes and digging his fingernails into his palms to distract him from those types of thoughts. “I thought you’d like a day at Rhaegar’s Harp.” Gods, he needed her out of his room and away from his slipping self control. This was too intimate, too familiar.

 

“Thank you.” A soft touch at his elbow had him snapping his eyes back open, glancing down to see her at his side, the look in her eyes almost melting him into the expensive carpet.

 

“I thought you were going to stop thankin’ me.”

 

“Just this one last time.”

 

As she turned to leave, he shuddered out a breath, hands grappling the edges of the dresser. He never did like to do things the easy way.

 

~*~*~

 

The traffic in King’s Landing was making him irrationally irritable, or maybe it was being stuck in the backseat again, his emotions fluctuating wildly, making him wonder if maybe he needed to be committed.

 

Or perhaps it was the fact that he and Robb were still at odds, made clear not long after Dany had retreated into her room to get ready for the day. He had opened the door to his seething brother, some cheap tabloid in his hand and then slapped against Jon’s chest, a picture of him wrapped around Daenerys outside of WBC building. Apparently it was the big question now, who was he and why were they so at ease with each other?

 

He could have offered an explanation to Robb, but something inside of him refused to give in to his brother, tired of being questioned about his ability to do his job. So it ended the same way the last confrontation had, with him telling Robb to fuck off.

 

“Are you up for another game of kickball?”

 

Pulling his gaze away from the bustle of the city, he looked over to Daenerys, the warmth of her body seeping into him where she pressed against his shoulder. “Always. Are you going to end up with that ridiculous half a butterfly on your face again?”

 

Something in his words made her smile just that much brighter and he longed to trace it with his fingers, to catch its sweetness with his own mouth, let some of her goodness soak into him.

 

“It was an excellent attempt, Jon Snow, and you better not let the girls hear you insult their work. They all have a desperate crushes on you.”

 

Heat flooded his face, turning his neck red. He’d never been good at having the attention turned on him. “They do not.”

 

“They do.” She laughed, twirling the ring on her finger, Missandei chuckling to her side.

 

Any protest was halted by Grey turning into the driveway, leaving him to adjust his jacket, making sure his gun was hidden from the curious eyes of children. They were a well oiled machine by now, Jorah sliding out to get the door, Jon stepping out and blocking the opening while they both scanned the area.

 

“All clear.” He moved aside and held out his hand, noting that he didn’t hear the happy sounds of excited children, just the noise of the neighborhood.

 

Her grip was firm in his as she moved out from the car, Jorah falling in on her other side as they moved forward. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as they moved towards the entrance and he looked behind them, Missandei lingering by the car, waiting for Grey, the feeling of dread making his limbs ready for action.

 

“Somethin’s not right.” He could hear a crackling noise in the background, still no sign of eager faces against the window or children racing out to meet them. “Jorah?”

 

“I agree.”

 

Wrapping his arm around her waist, he stopped them, Daenerys stiffening in his hold. “Let’s move back to the car.” The smell of smoke hit his nose, his heart jumping in alarm as adrenaline flooded his veins. “Grey—“

 

The explosion knocked them off their feet, heat flashing over them and he curled around her, ears ringing, his hand covering her face as the shrill of fire alarms filled the air, Jon peeking up to see the building fully engulfed in flames.

 

“Fuck, Dany we’ve got to move!” He made it to his feet, his vision tunneling as he coughed, black smoke rolling around them, hooking her under the armpits and hauling her up to her feet, ignoring her head colliding with his chin.

 

“The children!”

 

“We can’t help anyone.” She was fighting his hold, trying to free herself and he tightened his grip, feeling nauseous at knowing she’d wear his fingerprints and praying to the gods he no longer believed in that the building had been empty, using his strength to manhandle her back. Jorah was off to the side, his phone out and calling for help.

 

Danger could be anywhere, from anyone and he could feel the pressing heat from the fire as he bodily moved her back to the open door, Missandei stuck frozen in one spot, Grey running towards Jorah.

 

Nails were digging into his neck as she chanted the names of the kids over and over, horror filling him as he stumbled before shoving her into the car. “Dany!” He caught her face, bringing his level with hers, hoped he was right or she’d never forgive him. “There was nobody in there.”

 

Sirens wailed, getting louder as they got closer, Jon waiting for a bullet in the back as he kept her confined inside, her grip on his jacket keeping him from turning around, the tears in her eyes enough to flay him wide open.

 

Engines rumbled loudly, everyone now backed to the side of the car and out of the way as men jumped out of the fire trucks and he could hear them asking Jorah questions, the hiss of water hitting fire filling the air, the roar of flames consuming what was once a safe haven echoing in his ears.

 

Prying free of her hands, he turned to step out of the car, and against his better judgment, let her climb back out beside him, keeping her shoved between him and Jorah, Grey rubbing the arm of a shocked Missandei.

 

The building was a total loss, he could tell that even before the firemen turned to save the surrounding structures and he could feel her body shuddering in silent sobs as they watched the bones of Rhaegar’s Harp turn black and brittle, slowly collapsing in on itself.

 

Despite his best intentions to stay away, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, noticed Jorah holding her hand in support, everyone standing in a shocked silence.

 

“I’m putting you on lockdown.” As he said the words, his voice raspy with the smoke, he realized it was the right decision, an unshakable feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. This could be an accident, or it might not be and that possibility was an itch he couldn’t shake.

 

“Lockdown?”

 

Both Daenerys and Jorah were looking at him, one with approval, the other with disbelief, a gust of wind carrying over a mist from the fire hoses. “You’re going home to the manse and stayin’ there.”

 

There was a finality to his tone that caused her to curl her lips in a snarl but she stayed silent and he was grateful for that, an overwhelming sadness taking over and he waited until she stopped staring at him to turn his own gaze to look at her.

 

She was standing rigid and dry eyed, chin set firmly as she watched the legacy that she had built in honor of her brother, turn into ash right before them.

 

~*~*~

 

Her hair smelled of smoke.

 

They had been there for hours, watching the fire brigade work to save the decimated structure, and when it became obvious that was a lost cause, move on to making sure the fire didn’t leap and spread to the other buildings nearby. The only comfort had been the knowledge that Jon had been telling the truth. The building had been empty, no screaming victims rushing out, or needing to be dragged to safety.

 

Likely arson, they said. An investigation to follow.

 

She and Missandei had been in a suppressed state of shock, Dany unable to do much more that silently seethe as she watched everything she had worked so hard to establish over the last five years literally burst into flame in front of her. Missandei had finally snapped her out of it, demanding that she call Varys and the Board of Directors, both of them trying desperately to ascertain the whereabouts of the multitudes of classes that normally occupied Rhaegar’s Harp on a given day, and families they housed in the shelter.

 

It was either by a sheer stroke of luck, or by sinister design, that all classes for the day had embarked on a field trip to the Blackwater Bay Aquarium, and the shelter had been emptied earlier in the day for a routine pesticide appointment. It was a tense few hours until every family and child was accounted for, both she and Dei setting up a command center in the car, refusing to leave until they had made sure that every single person entrusted to their care was safe. They had then moved on to making sure that the families now homeless twice over had a place to go, Dany calling in every favor she was owed across King’s Landing in order to find space in other shelters, and even going so far as to make arrangements with local hotels until a more permanent solution could be reached in the meantime.

 

The Board had balked at the extra cost, but Dany had brooked no room for argument, giving Dei permission to use her personal line of credit to make sure that every family had a roof over their head, and a bed to sleep in for this night, and as many nights to come as was necessary.

 

She could still taste the ashes in her mouth as she slumped between Jon and Missandei on the way back to the manse, too tired and angry to be of much use. Her throat was dry and scratchy— from the smoke, from yelling into a phone all day, from the bouts of panic that would seize her, icy fingers of dread crawling through her at every pop and crackle from the flames. Only Jon had been steady throughout it all, and even he was starting show signs of cracking under the strain.

 

She hated every fucking minute of this fucking day. To say that watching her brother's legacy evaporate in front of her had been a particular low in a week of lows was putting it mildly. She was unsure of how much more of this torture she could really be expected to withstand without her sanity starting to crack.

 

The car pulled into the garage and they all piled out. Dany pushed past the concerned glances of Missandei, Grey, and Jorah to start the climb to her room, only Jon hot on her heels. He caught up to her as she reached Viserys’ wing, and even though her brother had been finally relegated to the guest house, Jon still put a hand on her arm to slow her as she passed his door, putting himself between it and her just in case.

 

She felt her heart give a twist at the gesture, and knew he didn’t deserve this silent treatment, but she found that she couldn’t put her muddled thoughts to words yet, too worn down and tired to be able to handle his feelings with much grace and aplomb.

 

They reached her door and Jon opened it, sweeping through quickly before ducking back out. She leaned against the wall, inspecting the new scrape on her palm from when the explosion had thrown them all to the concrete. Jon had taken the brunt of the fall for her, wrapping his arms around her, cradling her head as they dropped to the pavement, the press of his body almost knocking the air out of her until he jerked her up, dragging her back kicking and screaming to the safety of the car. Just a few seconds more and they all would have been inside— thank all the gods that Jon had been paying attention. When she thought back she could hear the strange crackling in her mind, but had thought nothing of it at the time.

 

She started as Jon came to stand in front of her, his hands dropping onto both of her shoulders. She closed her eyes and shrugged him off, needing just five minutes to herself. His puff of breath caught her, wounding them both that she would pull away here and now, lifting her hair and she captured the strand quickly, twisting her hair behind her in annoyance.

 

“Look,” his voice was rough, hoarse. “I know lockdown is not what you want— it’s not what I want for you eith—“

 

She held up a hand to quiet him, his words stuttering to a stop as he took in the new blemish on her skin, his jaw clenching with a sudden rage that she felt in a soul. How _dare_ this person go after those she cared about. “I’m going to take a shower, and change into something more comfortable. I suggest you do the same. Meet me downstairs in ten minutes.”

 

His eyebrows stood at attention, his mouth stern and tight as his lips shifted into a frown. “Dany, I—“

 

“Jon. Please,” he was silent for a beat before he nodded only once, his jaw jerking in response to her shortness. Something to apologize for later, she was sure. But for now, she needed warm water sluicing down her skin, carrying away the infernal smell of the destruction of her life’s work.

 

She ducked into her room, not bothering to close the door behind her, peeling off clothing as she went, caring little what Jon Snow saw or didn’t as she slammed the door to her bathroom and slapped the water on, stepping into the shower before the water even had a chance to heat. The cold sent a shock through her, finally breaking the dazed spell she had been under, a rage starting to simmer and boil. She slammed her hand against the glass of the shower, taking a towel and stuffing it in her mouth to muffle the scream of frustration that tore from her throat.

 

She held her breath for a moment after she finished, half hoping that Jon would storm in. She needed— Gods, she didn’t know what she needed— to fight, or flee, or fuck, but something told her that Jon would be right there with her, every step of the way no matter which path she chose. After a few tense moments, she realized he must be in his own shower, her quick muffle too adept. With a sigh, she slathered her shampoo haphazardly through her hair, scrubbing harder than necessary, banishing the smell of smoke once and for all.

 

A quick lather and rinse and she was out before the water had a chance to truly warm, her blood still running hot, keeping her from shivering as she wrapped a towel around her and stepped into her bedroom.

 

The door between their two rooms was still open, and she was loathe to close it now, even if she could still feel her frustration and anger dripping off her in waves. She went to her dresser and ripped open the drawers, looking for the soft, blue cotton shorts that she usually wore outdoors on hot days, letting the towel drop as she pulled them on, slipping a white tank top over her bare shoulders. She rummaged through another drawer to find a sweatshirt in case the weather turned after dark, and went to her closet to find a pair of simple canvas shoes.

 

She ripped open the door to her room— Jon must have closed it— and found him ready on the other side, those grey sweatpants she had first seen during the kickball game at— _Don’t..._

 

“Ready?”

 

He shrugged, falling into step with her as she led them back down the stairs and sweeping into the kitchen, a woman on a mission. “I can still go outside, right?”

 

His brow furrowed as she yanked the fridge open, pulling out various fruits and cheeses, slapping them with more force than necessary on the counter behind her. “I mean, yes, as long as you stay on the property then—“

 

“Great, grab some crackers.” She pointed to a cabinet behind her, rattling through the drawers until she came up with a couple of paring knives, and started opening other cabinets looking for something in which to carry her bounty.

 

There was a huff of breath behind her as she found a basket in the back of a high cupboard, going up on her toes to try to reach it before Jon took a confused pity on her, reaching over her head and bringing it down. His chest brushed across her shoulder and she fought down a blaze of heat that seared through her at the contact, wanting nothing more than to turn into him, shove him up against the counter and ravish as much of him as he would allow. He stepped back before she could act, and with a low growl of frustration, she turned to grab a couple of plates, throwing everything haphazardly inside the basket. “Dare I ask what is happenin’?”

 

She blinked up at him, her movements stalling. “Sure. I’m getting hammered. You’re welcome to join me. Unless you just like to watch.” His face flamed even as he barked out a laugh before he realized that she was completely serious. “What’s your poison? Ale? Wine? Something stronger?”

 

“Dany—“

 

“Jon—“ she rolled her eyes and went back to throwing everything into the basket, brushing the dust off the handle. “Look, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I will call you a craven child every hour on the hour for letting this opportunity pass you by.”

 

He smirked and reached for the basket, testing its weight. “Is that a challenge?”

 

“Yes. I thought that part was obvious.”

 

He considered her for a moment, his hesitation obvious. “You’ve had a long day.”

 

“Others take me, Jon.” She had to fight down the urge to reach out and grip him by his gloriously muscled arms and shake him until his godsdamnned hair tie fell out. “Yes, I have had a fucking long day. And now I’m going to deal with that fucking long day by getting drunk off my ass. Join me, don’t— I really don’t care, but I am taking this—“ she raised the basket, “and I am getting wasted.”

 

She wrapped her sweatshirt around her waist, throwing the basket over her arm as she rummaged through one more cabinet, finding a couple of shot glasses. She clinked them together aggressively in Jon’s direction and made her way outside, not bothering to make sure he was behind her.

 

But, of course he was. “Um, I think you may have forgotten something.” His voice trailed behind her, the humid, sticky air making it even harder to breathe.

 

“You’ll see,” she tossed the words over her shoulder as she struck out across the yard, not bothering with walkways, traipsing directly across the well manicured lawn, headed toward the pond. She could feel him close behind her, the urge strong to reach back and take his hand to drag him along, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling of his hands on her in all the ways she had hated instead of all the ways she secretly craved.

 

He didn’t deserve any part of her ire, she knew that in what was left of the rational corner of her mind, he was only trying to protect her, to make sure no harm came to her, to do his fucking _job_. Another snarl fell from her lips as she picked up the pace, determined to outrun those particular demons if she could. As if he could sense her reservations, he also kept his hands to himself, no scarred palm perfectly fit to the small of her back, no arm offered, no hand on her shoulder, or thumb on the notches of her spine, tracing the ridges as if the feeling of her skin beneath his palms could offer him salvation.

 

She could feel the tension crackling between them even now, his eyes burning a hole into her back, the silence stretching and morphing into something lethal, almost feral, but she would be thrice damned if she let him off the hook that easily.

 

She reached the grove of chestnut trees by the pond, following the water until she spotted the well worn path. The trees were thick here, and the bushes were overgrown— she’d have to remind the gardener to trim it back, but finally, her destination was in sight. An antiquated gazebo, only visible from the back half of the pond, the stone of the patio dropping off directly into the water. It came complete with fully stocked bar, empty fireplace— given the season— and a couple of iron chairs surrounding the lone table. She dropped the basket on the table with a clunk, crossing to the counter and feeling underneath the lip of it for the key she kept taped there.

 

It took a few moments, but she finally felt it, scraping the tape with a fingernail until it came loose and the key dropped into her palm. She wasted no time in crossing to the refrigerator, slipping the key into the padlock, and with a flourish, dropped the open lock onto the counter behind her and threw open the fridge.

 

It hadn’t been stocked properly in awhile, but there was still more than adequate supplies for them both, a few bottles of Dornish red and Arbor gold, but she shoved past them all to get to the back, wanting the kick and bite of something stronger, something to strangle her thoughts before they could form, to allow her to slip quickly and solidly into the realm of numbness that blessedly awaited her.

 

“Ha!” The sound of triumph left her lips as her fingers closed around the dark bottle, pulling the black tar rum from the depths of the fridge, the bottle sweating immediately in the heat and humidity. She bit down on the cap, pulling it out with her teeth before she tossed it onto the table, Jon’s face a delightful mix of confusion, awe, and horror at her behavior.

 

She rummaged through the basket for the shot glasses, pouring one for herself, and one for Jon as he settled warily into the chair across from her. “I think I’m good.”

 

She checked his watch on her wrist. “Hmmm, 6:57pm. You are a craven child.” She pushed the glass toward him again, his jaw tightening as a stubbornness swept across his face. “Like I said, drink, don’t— I don’t give two shits, but there are rules.”

 

His arms folded across his chest. “Rules.”

 

“Yes, Jon, _rules_.” She fought down the urge to roll her eyes at him, dropping heavily into her own chair, her fingers still curled tightly around the neck of the rum, her other hand lifting the glass. “Rule #1– I get to wallow for three shots. I can scream, cry, jump in the pond, run around naked if I want, and I get to do it and you won’t stop me as long as I’m not endangering myself or you.”

 

His eyes had narrowed the further into the list she got, obviously not liking much of what she had to say, but willing to put up with it for the time being. “Fine.”

 

“Rule #2– Your speaking privileges have been revoked until you drink three shots of your own.”

 

“Dany—“

 

“Strike one,” she kicked him under the table like a child. “Like I said— you can opt out if you want, but you don’t get to say anything if you do.” She reached over to slide his glass closer to him, his eyes now watching her every move like a hawk.

 

“Rule #3– The night is not done until the bottle is done.” His eyebrows raised in surprise, looking at the bottle, and then back at her. “Only you have direct control over how bad my hangover is going to be tomorrow, Jon. I’ve laid out my course and I’m sticking to it. Cheers.”

 

She tipped the rum back before he could protest, verbally or otherwise, slamming the glass back onto the table as it burned all the way down. It was surprisingly sweet at first, but the spice of it caught her on the back end and she coughed once. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuuck.”

 

His eyebrows were back at attention as the profanity spilled from her lips, her head dropping onto her folded arms to escape the concerned look in his eyes as she stamped her feet under the table and wound her fists into her hair. “Fuck this day, fuck my brother, fuck everything to all seven of the hells and may whoever is doing this burn for all eternity.”

 

She could feel the sting of tears pricking the back of her eyes and she bit down on her lip to keep them from falling. “He’s escalating, isn’t he?” She asked it from the safety of her shield of hair, knowing what the answer was even before she felt Jon’s warm fingers thread through to reach hers, stroking softly until she let the death grip on her tresses go. “It’s not enough to kill me anymore. He wants to make it hurt on the way out.”

 

Jon’s hand tightened on hers, his grip almost painful, and she lifted her head to meet his eyes, the pain she saw there a reflection of her own. “We got so lucky today— and I don’t just mean us not being in the fucking building. I mean—“ she choked before she could finish the horrifying thought, the imagined sight of bloody children something that would haunt her dreams tonight.

 

She dropped his hand and shoved back from the table, a frenetic energy driving her to pace along the edge of the pond, not even the stillness of the water relaxing her. “What if it hadn’t been a field trip day? What if we would have gone tomorrow instead— would he have known and waited, or was this always the plan, something else to just take me out at the knees?”

 

She made her way back to the table, grabbing the bottle and pouring herself another shot, slamming it back as well. “I swear, if this lunatic harms one hair on any of those children’s heads, he will come to know the meaning of _Fire and Blood_ before I finish with him.”

 

Jon shivered, whether from her oath, or the first hint of a cool breeze across heated skin, she didn't know. Ominous clouds were swirling in the distance, a summer storm to go along with the storm raging within her. She dropped back into her chair across from him, leaning back, her sudden burst of energy gone. She could feel the tears starting to well up again, obviously not quite the dry husk she had spent the day feeling like, and she gripped the arms of the chair as she stared at the roof of the gazebo, the sunlight filtering through a few patchy holes. Something else in her life to try to repair.

 

“You’re right about the lockdown, by the way.” She could hear his sigh of relief, but couldn’t bring herself to look at him yet. “Maybe if I disappear for awhile, he won’t involve anyone else. I could never forgive myself if…” she trailed off, not knowing how to finish the statement.

 

_If anyone else got hurt… If anyone she loved was killed… If Jon…_

 

She sat up, unable to follow that thought to its end, reaching for the bottle to pour her third shot, her fingers tracing the rim of the glass. “I keep thinking about all of this. I keep trying to wrack my brain for the _why_ of it all.” She brought the glass to her lips, taking a small sip before she sighed and threw the rest of it back, warmth finally starting to build in her chest. “I just can’t figure out what I _did._ Fuck me— what in all seven hells did I do? What do I have to do to make it right?”

 

The scrape of the iron on the concrete startled her as Jon shoved his chair back, first shot downed before his fingers closed on the bottle, pouring the other two in quick succession and throwing them back. “Fuck him. You didn’t do anythin’.”

 

She was just as startled by her laugh as he was, his hand already rubbing at his chest as the rum burned to go with the fire in his eyes. “And how would you know?” The question came out softer than she anticipated, the vulnerability of it catching in her throat.

 

His nostrils flared as he tried to rein himself in, her shift in energy taking him by surprise. He was silent for a moment as he poured them each another shot, setting the bottle aside and making himself busy with unpacking the rest of the basket. “Because I see you.”

 

Her heart stopped as he brought his gaze to meet hers steadily, not even the rum distorting the warmth of it, the way his fingers clenched and unclenched, hesitant even now to reach for her. “I can see straight to the heart of you, and nothin’ you could have done would deserve what he’s puttin’ you through.”

 

She could feel her cheeks going pink under his praise, easily matching the shade of his neck at his outburst. Unsure of what to do, or how to handle such admiration she leaned forward, taking a stem of grapes and popping one into her mouth. “You don’t know all of me,” she found herself whispering in the quiet that had descended. “You’ve only been here, what— a few weeks?”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” his response was immediate and firm, and she could feel her heartbeat pounding in her chest, her desire to take his face in her hands bubbling up, to stroke her thumbs against the edges of his beard. “You keep tryin’ to help, to be better. That counts for everything’.”

 

She bit her lip to keep her quiet thank you from escaping, a slow smile spreading over Jon’s face as he realized what she had been about to say, and he slid a plate of fruit and cheese toward her along with her next shot. “Ready to stop wallowin’?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“You said three shots— I’m just followin’ the rules.”

 

She laughed, the tightness that had settled in her chest from the moment the explosion knocked her off her feet finally loosening as she leaned forward, capturing his hand in hers as she lifted the shot glass, waiting until he did the same. “May we both see truly.”

 

He swallowed, the bob of his Adam’s apple long and slow as she leaned forward to clink glasses, her fingers tightening over his. They both drank, slowly this time, the need to rush gone. She turned out to look at the gathering clouds over the pond, the puffy darkness battling the last remnants of the sun as the breeze picked up around them, blessedly breaking the humidity.

 

“Tell me something nice.”

 

He groaned. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that. I think you may have noticed that pretty words are not my forte.”

 

She shook her head, thoroughly charmed. “You’re better than you think,” but she acquiesced, taking a moment to scan through the available information she had learned, knowing that both of their pasts were littered with minefields. “What’s snow like?”

 

He jerked in shock, almost spilling the bottle from where he had been pouring their next round. “You’ve never seen snow?”

 

She had to laugh at the thunderstruck look on his face. “Is that so hard to believe?”

 

“When you grow up in a place that sees more snow than rain, yes, it’s kind of a strange concept to grasp.” She tilted her head, waiting for him to continue, taking a wedge of cheese to nibble on as he gathered his thoughts. “It’s cold.”

 

She nearly choked, coughing around the laughter as he got to his feet to pat her on the back, his hands coming to settle on her shoulders. “You’re tense,” he murmured.

 

“I wonder why,” she said, her mouth dry as he gathered her damp hair to the side, throwing it gently over her shoulder before he set his strong thumbs to work on her shoulders and neck, a tiny groan of pleasure escaping her lips as he worked. “Go on.”

 

He was quiet for a moment, obviously enjoying the feeling of her becoming absolute putty in his hands, the warmth of the rum swirling together with the searing heat he was conjuring in her belly with his touch. “There are lots of kinds of snow— flurries, which are tiny and more obnoxious than anything else. A good snow has some weight to it, it’s fluffy— will catch on your eyelashes and your skin before they disappear— gone forever.”

 

“That’s sad.”

 

“The North is a bit of a sad place. But beautiful.”

 

She reached for their shot glasses, handing his over her shoulder to him, a tiny grin in place as he took it, his other hand spanning the nape of her neck, his fingers trailing over the fine hairs there. “Do you miss it?” Her voice was hoarse, her mind starting to go a little fuzzy, especially as she downed the next shot, her head lolling back into his hand to stare up at him.

 

His gaze was thoughtful, that same heat she saw in the dressing room mirror simmering underneath as he also drank down his rum, setting the glass back on the table and pouring another for them both before returning his hand to her shoulder, squeezing tightly. “Sometimes. I miss my dog.”

 

She sat up and spun around, the world tilting crazily as she reached for the table to steady herself. “You have a puppy?”

 

His chuckle reverberated through her chest. “Don’t ever let him hear you call him that.”

 

“Pictures, Snow.” She bounced in anticipation as he pulled the chair around next to her, pulling his phone from his pocket and swiping through until he found the picture he wanted, turning the phone to her and handing her another wedge of cheese.

 

“This is Ghost.”

 

“Oh my gods, he’s so fluffy.” Truth be told, she could barely see the dog in the picture he had chosen, the giant floof blending into the snowy backdrop of the photo completely.

 

His laugh was starting to become an addicting sound to her, one that she would crave hearing no matter the circumstance. “Don’t ever let him hear you say that either.”

 

“What does Ghost prefer?”

 

“Ferocious beast?”

 

She shook her head, her eyes going back to the photo, Ghost’s tongue lolling out in a giant doggy grin. “This puppers? Noooo.”

 

He plucked the phone out of her grasp to scroll through more photos, and she pushed at his boundaries just a bit more, feeling a shift between them, something that had been growing from the start, exacerbated by the constant close contact. She rested her head on his shoulder as she nibbled on her cheese, oohing and ahhing over the rest of the photos— his transformation to proud doggy dad complete.

 

They lapsed into silence, Jon’s chin resting on her head as they watched the clouds, the sunlight dying as the first low rumble of thunder made itself known. He sat up, reaching down to brush the strands of her hair caught in his beard away. “Storm’s comin’.”

 

“Aye.” She couldn’t hold the serious tone and burst into giggles before she had even finished the word, reaching for their next round. “Guess we better hurry.”

 

She stood up to stretch, thankful that the world was not shifting so violently, rolling her shoulders and neck, now loose and relaxed under his skillful touch. “You’re good at that.”

 

She padded toward the fridge, opening it to pull out a couple bottles of water, handing one to him over his shoulder before grabbing the bottle of rum and crossing to the counter. She set the bottle down carefully, and turned to face Jon, his curiosity written wide as she placed her hands behind her and attempted to hoist herself onto the counter. She failed, slipping down with a laugh. “Oops.”

 

He stood, crossing to her, crowding her between his solid form and the counter. “Need some help?”

 

The gruffness in his voice tore through her, his eyes serious and lightly hooded. She had to fight to urge to bury her nose in his chest, to breathe him in as she nodded, unable to trust her voice. His hands went to her waist, thumbs rolling across the bones of her hips beneath the tank top, lifting her easily and placing her on the countertop. They were eye level for the first time, and she couldn’t help herself as her fingers traced the line of his strong nose, her thumbs finally finding that furrow between his brows and smoothing it away.

 

She was seconds away from threading her fingers through his curls when he caught her wrists, pulling her hands gently from his face, and her breath caught at the blaze in his eyes, the rumble of thunder in the distance getting stronger by the minute.

 

“Turn around.” She wet her lips as she said it, his gaze dropping there and lingering, another bolt of want streaking through her. For a moment, she thought he might not listen, that he might take her face in his hands, cover her lips with his own, but instead his gaze fell to her neck, his fingers lightly trailing over what was left of the scratch before a resolve came over him and he turned.

 

She released the breath she didn’t know she was holding, wildly scrambling for the bottle of rum, not even bothering with a glass as she chugged straight from the bottle before handing it to him as well. This was too much, too intimate, but she couldn’t tear herself away, like a moth drawn to his flame.

 

With trembling fingers, she reached for his hair tie, wrapping it around her wrist as she finally sank her fingers into his curls, shaking the hair loose from his bun. He groaned lightly, taking a swig of his own from the bottle before grabbing the lip of the counter behind him, his thumb trailing lightly along the skin of her knee.

 

She continued her work, patiently untangling the curls, her fingers pressing into the warmth of his scalp, her thumbs working at the hollow where his skull met his neck, his tension bleeding away under her touch. The breeze picked up, a cool bite to it now as the storm loomed, and she found herself pressing closer to his warmth, her hands trailing down to his shoulders before winding under his arms, her chin coming to rest on his shoulder.

 

He took another drink from the bottle, handing it back to her to set aside before grabbing her left hand, and bringing it forward to inspect the new scrape. The burn of the rum was nothing compared to his gentle, yet searing touch, and he took a step forward, pulling her off the counter, her wrists captured in his hands, her front pressed firmly to his muscled back, every movement sending a ripple through them both. She buried her face in the space between his shoulder blades, going rigid against him as his lips passed over the scrape, a whisper of a kiss that left her reeling, wondering if she had actually felt it.

 

There was a gentle pressure on her wrist before he turned in her arms, smirking down at her as his watch now dangled from his fingers— brazenly stolen from her own wrist. Her jaw dropped, composure scattered to the rising winds, and she reached for the watch, only to have it snapped back out of her grasp.

 

“Told you I’d want it back.”

 

That cruel but sexy smirk was growing, as was her want, her _need_ to wipe it off his face with her tongue, to finally find out if his lips were as plush as they felt against her palm, all pouting and soft.

 

Instead, she leaned back, a cold, calculating look falling over her face as she bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from giving the game away. “You fight dirty, Jon Snow.”

 

His eyes widened as she wet her lips, moving onto the tips of her toes, the rum making her a little brave, a little bold— her hands coming to rest ever so lightly on his chest for balance. She pushed herself forward, further into his space, taking a moment to nuzzle his jaw with the tip of her nose. His beard was coarse against her skin, and even the barest of touches had his jaw clenching, the skin in the hollow of his cheek jumping sporadically. She eased her way to his earlobe, wondering what he would do if she were to take it into her mouth, suckle it with her tongue, nip at it with sharp, cunning teeth.

 

She let her hands travel up to his shoulders, pushing her breasts into his chest, the drag of her nipples through her thin tank against his scars spiraling waves of heat between them, his breath now coming in heaves beneath her. “I’ll remember that.”

 

“Is that a threat?” His voice had dropped at least two octaves, more guttural than she had ever heard, and there it was, that throb of desire straight to her cunt, perfectly timed to the crash of his heartbeat.

 

She leaned back, fascinated by the way his body involuntarily bowed to keep her close, her fingers trailing down her arms. “Worse.”

 

His eyes were helpless, unable to look away from her and her smile spread, predatory, knowing in her bones that he was captured. “It’s a promise.”

 

As if the gods themselves had witnessed her vow, a peal of thunder ripped through the gazebo, the concurrent flash of lightning igniting the fire blazing in his eyes as she dropped down and away, snagging the rum as his fingers brushed against her arm as he made to grasp her, pull her in. She danced away to the table, knowing somewhere in a darkened, fuzzy corner of her mind that she was a bit too tipsy to allow anything to happen tonight.

 

He carried enough guilt. She wouldn’t let him add a night of drunken debauchery to that guilt, as much as she wanted to throw herself at him— to worship him with her lips and tongue, to follow that V shaped muscle to its point, finally, _finally,_ taking him into her hand, her mouth, her cunt, as deeply as she had already taken him into her heart.

 

His low growl of frustration nearly set her aflame as well, and she was dying to soothe, to explain, but settled instead for pouring them both another shot, turning to him with his glass in hand. She approached slowly, his eyes watching her warily as she offered him the shot glass. His fingers curled around hers as he took it, understanding finally simmering beneath the heat.

 

“Last one.” He said, a promise behind the words, but she tossed her hair wildly, shaking her head.

 

“Bottle’s not done yet.” She held it aloft, the two fingers left in it taunting them, and raised her glass, tapping it to his. “Here’s to tomorrow’s hangover.”

 

“I’m not holdin’ your hair back if you start vomiting.”

 

“Yes, you will.” She teased, and a soft look crept back into his face, some form of chivalry finally permeating the lust.

 

He shook his head slowly, a smile spreading across his face, the sincerity of it stealing her breath away. “Aye, I will.”

 

She tipped the rum into her mouth, the burn of it searing all the way down, her cheeks flushing as Jon’s eyes never left her, eyeing the column of her neck, the way her tank top rode up her stomach, the wind in her hair. “Don’t worry,” she said, her tongue stalling under his bold gaze. “I’m hardier than I look.”

 

“I know,” he said quietly, advancing on her and plucking the bottle from her grip, pouring the next round as little _plips_ and _plops_ started out on the roof above them, another peal of thunder and lightning reverberating through her chest. He stopped, looking out at the lawn as the rain picked up speed, the drops splashing across the pond as the sounds quickly crescendoed, the crash along the roof almost deafening. “Here comes the rain.”

 

She snorted, even as his smile cracked with his obvious comment, the smell of the rum in her hands almost as intoxicating as the scent of the rain swirling together with that of the man beside her. She threw the shot back, setting the glass unsteadily on the table.

 

She couldn’t help herself then, throwing herself into his arms as they came down around her, gathering her into his chest, finally brave enough to realize that she needed to be held, she wanted to be held by _him_. His nose buried into her hair, and she could feel his lips mouthing against her scalp, the apologetic words she had forbidden him to say offered up as a prayer against her skin.

 

The sound of his heartbeat crashed along with the thunder as the storm broke and wailed around them— how long they stayed wrapped in the other’s embrace unclear. All she knew was that eventually, the sounds of the storm dulled in her ears, the rain steady but no longer holding the wrath of all the gods.

 

She pulled back slightly, and Jon’s scarred hand went to her cheek, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear reverently, his eyes searching her own for only a moment before she grinned up at him, and slapped his ass as hard as she could. The muscle jumped beneath her palm before she took off into the rain, the peal of her laughter trailing behind her as she fled.

 

He caught her before she could get past the pond, strong arms wrapping around her waist and lifting her into the air to swing her around to face him, the rain streaming down both of their faces, both of them soaked through immediately.

 

“Daenerys Targaryen!” His words were shocked, but that simmer in his eyes was back, a low boiling heat that she knew would bubble out and over them both soon.

 

_Soon._

 

“Jonathan Snow!” That brilliant smile was there as well, his laugh keeping her warm in the summer rain, and she couldn’t help herself anymore, couldn’t hold back the rush of her desire as she hooked her arms around his neck, drawing him down to her, her lips capturing the joy of his laugh finally, _finally_ , upon her own.

 

He stiffened for only a moment before his arms locked around her, lifting her off her feet as his mouth opened under hers, her tongue sweeping past those soft and supple lips as teeth clanked messily, her legs wrapping around his waist as his hands went to her ass, supporting her until he got them back into the grove of trees, out of the still pouring rain. He tasted of rum and fruit and sweetness, his breath coming in gasps as he pulled away, setting her on wobbly feet against the trunk of a tree, one hand still on her wrist as he tried to wipe the rain off of his face.

 

“It’s just Jon,” he said quietly, his chest heaving with the effort of restraint as she realized what she had just done.

 

“Oh gods,” she put her face in her hands, the world suddenly reeling around her. She didn't even know if he had a fucking girlfriend, someone who cherished him, and here she was— “I’m so sorr—“

 

His mouth was on hers again before she could finish, his hands twining with hers as he pulled them away from her face. This time his lips were gentle and sweet, her blood singing as he gripped her tightly. “Don’t.” His breath was still coming heavily, or was it her own— she wasn’t sure anymore. “Don’t be sorry. We’ve got time, Dany.”

 

“Do we?” The sting of tears was back, pricking her eyes as she stared up at him.

 

“I swear to you, we do.”

 

She buried her face in his neck, the rest of her strength leaving her in a whoosh, and everything was a swirl of light and color, nothing registering until she realized she was laying down, a soft, but firm pillow beneath her cheek that smelled of him.

 

She drifted off, cloaked in his scent, this time letting her dreams take her where they may.

 

_~*~*~_

  



	7. I can’t catch my breath ‘cause you take it away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody was around and he could no longer resist, cupping her neck and kissing her temple, her head turning and grabbing his shirt, holding him there long enough to catch his mouth with hers, the jolt going clear down to his toes. 
> 
> A noise left the back of his throat as they parted, and he forgot about the gun oil on his fingers as he pushed the hair behind her ear, deciding in that instant that he wasn’t going to hide behind excuses or other people’s opinions. 
> 
> “You want to get out of here for a while? Tonight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand thanks to Alice for beta-ing this behemoth. 25K y'all, and she tackled it flawlessly as always. All our kisses (with red lipstick, of course) for you! *mwah*
> 
> To JW for the gorgeous moodboard. She always captures exactly what we envision-- so talented <3
> 
> And to Mel-- Look. I'm writing this before the ep airs, but know this. If it all goes to shit tonight, it will never be for a loss because I got to meet you. I know we've both said it before, but truly-- you are the best part to come out of Jonerys. I will be forever grateful to this show for bringing us together. Love you forever.
> 
> AND-- Yeah, y'all. **It's SMUT TIME! Do what we say, not what we write, wrap that shit up, kthxbai.**
> 
>  
> 
> **< 3**

 

~*~*~

He’d forgotten to close the blinds the night before, something overlooked in the aftermath of the fire, forgotten in his hurry to meet Daenerys, and definitely not on his mind at the end of his night. The brightness was creeping in, making him aware of the dull pounding of a headache, courtesy of the rum, his eyelids feeling like sandpaper over his eyes. 

 

But, all of that was forgotten, even the warmth of the sun after the summer storm, because there was a greater warmth curled into him. Soft snores tickled his ears, a slim leg tucked possessively over his, his right arm numb under her slight weight.

 

Gods, it had seemed like such a good idea the night before, scooping her up in his arms, the rain drenching them both as he carried her inside, her face tucked into his shoulder. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to put her into her nest on the floor— her bed still off limits— so he had done the only thing he could and tucked her into his bed.

 

It had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, and since he was a grown arsed man who could control his impulses and urges, he had crawled into the covers on his side, not sure if the spinning world was from the alcohol or from his first taste of Daenerys Targaryen. 

 

Considering he was still weightless and turning, but without the nausea of a hangover, it had to be her.

 

Fuck, he was so done for. The previous night had been the final crack that toppled the wall, and that was  _ before _ he’d even kissed her. No, that decision had been made the moment his fingers had curled around that shot glass to follow the rules she’d sternly laid out. Now he stood in the rubble of what had been his rules, the dirt and debris of the safety net he’d been hiding behind, finally out in the open and willing to see the consequences.

 

And all because he couldn’t stand the thought of her not understanding how godsdamned wonderful she was— how she made him want to climb out of the icy cage that he’d been stuck in, just to be around her and soak up that endless fire she provided.

 

The breathing against his skin broke, breath catching, her palm sliding down his abdomen— in hindsight, he should have kept his shirt on— as she shifted, and he caught her hand carefully, pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist in apology, already hard and aching for her.

 

For a moment he let himself fantasize about rolling her onto her back and waking her up in other pleasurable manners, before getting lost inside of her, but it wasn’t right yet. He wanted her,  _ fuck, _ he wanted her, jaw clenching with effort as he carefully slipped free of the tangle of her limbs, but he needed to make sure she had seen all of him first— all the broken bits and not just the man keeping her safe.

 

Rolling onto his side, a cautious arm’s length away he watched her eyelids flutter, lashes dark against her cheek, his heart giving a resounding thump to remind him it still worked as her mouth rounded with the displeasure of waking up. A whine came from that back of her throat, her small hand moving heavily up to cover her eyes as she groaned at the sharpness of the light.

 

“Oh gods, we drank that whole bottle, didn’t we?”

 

“Technically, you had a head start.”

 

Her hand froze, the blue of her eyes peeking from between her fingers, surprise not quite muffled. “Jon?”

 

“Aye.” He chuckled and caught her hand. “Who did you think I was?”

 

There was no answer as she buried her face in his pillow, a growing nervousness that maybe he’d overstepped or  _ fuck _ , even misread the situation, drunken choices mistaken for sober ones, before she lifted her head, pushing the knotted mess of silver from her vision. “I didn’t realize I was in your room. I should have known, the pillows smell like you.”

 

That chased away the unease, something inside him preening at the strange thought of her recognizing what he smelled like, and he propped his head up with his hand, letting her gather thoughts, not wanting to push, even though he desperately wanted to know what she was thinking.

 

“My head hurts.” She flopped back against the mattress, turning to face him, lips turned down in a pout and he wanted to run his thumb over them, test their fullness again to make sure it hadn’t all been just a dream. 

 

“Mine too.” He let his eyes flutter closed against the pounding in his skull, against the urge to pull her close, even though he wasn’t sure all his limbs would work properly. “How are you feelin’?”

 

He wasn’t talking about her hangover and she knew it, his eyes opening in time to watch hers close, mouth tightening with anger, loss, and he reached out to cover her hand with his own, wanting to give comfort, let her know she wasn’t facing this alone.

 

“Still angry but that won’t accomplish anything.” Lashes fluttered, sea blue staring at him, determination in their depths, and he felt himself fall a little farther down the hole with her.

 

Her hand turned over under his, smaller fingers lacing through his, and he felt the resounding squeeze around his heart. “And what does Daenerys Targaryen plan to accomplish?”

 

“Rebuild? Relocate? I don’t know yet, but I won’t be scared away that easily.”

 

Those words filled him with pride, with awe, the realization that fighting his feelings for her would be impossible when she kept stubbornly climbing back up onto her feet every time life knocked her down. And at the same time he was terrified, that very attitude likely to make her an easier target, putting her right into the crosshairs he was trying to keep her out of. But he’d have to learn to adjust, bend, double up on his work because he knew he wouldn’t allow himself to stifle her. 

 

“That’s one of the things I like about you.” It was a heavy confession in the wake of what almost happened between them, regret that it didn’t mingling with the pleasurable torture of drawing it out, seeing how long it could last before they finally came together, and apparently, he mused, he was done pretending they weren’t barreling straight down that road.

 

“Jon.” Her face shifted, twisted, and his heart dropped, certain she was going to take it all back just as he’d realized what he wanted. “I need to ask you…” she trailed off, rolling to her back to stare at the ceiling, keeping the now awkward hold on his hand. “I mean, before I end up in your bed again, I don’t know anything about your personal life.”

 

It took him a moment to understand what she was saying, his concentration having came to a stuttering stop at  _ in your bed again _ and the lusty images that brought forth. He forced himself mentally forward. “I’m not involved with anyone.” He cleared his throat as she turned back to face him. “I haven’t… it’s been awhile.” 

 

Memories came up to choke him even though he’d moved forward, the tiniest bit of regret for the bitter ending before death had made it permanent, even with the knowledge it never would have worked out in the end.

 

“Another terrible story?” Gentle fingers touched a scar, then another and his breath shuddered.

 

“Aye.” But this story would not end the same, he vowed silently. “We were too different, even before it went badly, too stubborn to realize it. But I learned a lot about myself, about how I viewed the world, so I guess, in the end that part at least was good.”

 

“Too stubborn?” An eyebrow arched at him and he could tell she was trying to balance her curiosity with causing him pain at the recollection, and he felt so much  _ more  _ for her than lust that it made him a little dizzy.

 

Lifting their joined hands, he pressed a kiss against her knuckles, lingered for a moment. “Apparently that’s a thing for me.” 

 

“Maybe I don’t want to hear more.”

 

There was a huff of jealousy in her tone and he couldn’t stop the small smile, could hardly believe that she could have an ounce of that in her. “You needn’t worry.” It was a promise disguised lightheartedly, and he reached out to push hair off her face. “You have empathy, caring for everyone. You want the best for them and try to reach out to them all. She cared deeply for her people and didn’t care about those who stood in her way.” It was so easy to spot the difference now. “She was Freefolk.”

 

“And you were Night’s Watch.” It was said with sadness, the understanding of pain.

 

“Aye.” Too much difference and not enough caring in them to compromise. Or, Jon thought, staring into the eyes of the woman he very much wanted to fuck— but also hold and comfort, stand beside her while she changed the world— maybe the key was finding someone with whom compromise didn’t seem so impossible. 

 

“I’m not happy you went through that, but a part of me is selfish enough to be glad you don’t have someone waiting at home for you. Does that mar the image for you?”

 

“No.” His words rushed out, caught between throwing himself at her like a fool, and keeping calm and collected, mouth closing to prevent a rush of confessions from falling out. How could that tarnish her when he felt the same way? “No.” 

 

A little smile moved over her face, fingers tightening in his and he wanted to pull her closer, let her relax into him, lay in bed and waste the morning away, just as badly as he wanted to roll her under him and make them both forget about past lovers.

 

The vibration of his cell phone was enough to stop any further thoughts along those lines, and Jon sighed at the interruption before rolling over to make a mad grab for it. With a wince, he noticed it was Robb, almost dropped the phone on his chest as he fumbled to answer it, wondering rather belatedly what the person on duty the previous night must have thought about the show he put on with Daenerys.

 

“Robb.”

 

“Jon.” Robb’s voice was still tight with displeasure, their fighting still lingering, neither ready to back down. “Apparently Viserys has booked a few days in Dorne.”

 

He could feel Daenerys looking at him, quiet and wide eyed and Jon tried not to snarl at the convenience of her brother leaving town. “Okay. Please email me your travel information and let me know if you need anything researched while you are in motion.”

 

“Got it.” There was a sigh on the other end of the line, Jon pinching his eyes shut with the weight of it settling in his chest. He wouldn’t apologize for his feelings and actions. “Well, see you in a few days brother.”

 

“Aye, see you when you get back.” As the call disconnected, he dropped the phone onto his chest, the feel of her palm against his keeping the guilt from crawling over him. Because she was nothing to feel guilty over, he knew that, hating the ingrained reflex that automatically kicked in.

 

Fingers trailing along his forearm had him turning his head back, letting her touch melt him back into the moment of them, enjoying it for the space of a dozen heartbeats before opening his mouth to possibly ruin it. “Your brother is going to Dorne for a few days.”

 

“There is a rehab there that he’s been to before. Maybe that’s where he’s headed.” There was a cautious hopefulness in her eyes that twisted his heart, her fucking terrible brother not worth a sliver of her time. But, he didn’t voice that, knew it wasn’t that simple.

 

“I can find out for you.” All the information was probably already sitting in his inbox, easily shared if she wanted.

 

“Don’t tell me yet.” 

 

He moved back to his side, letting himself reach out and glide a thumb over her cheekbone, the unblemished one, recognizing her instinct to protect her heart, already knowing she would ask him in her own time to see if Viserys was making an effort.

 

She caught his hand, holding it to her cheek for a moment before nuzzling his wrist, his pulse kicking up with her motions, heat waking up his system with a sharp bite and he almost made a noise that would have been embarrassing considering what little she was doing.

 

And he wasn’t quite ready to let everything go just yet. “We should probably get up before Missandei comes looking for you.” 

 

The face she made was an effective pout, making him remember vividly how soft her lips were, how quickly and utterly lost he became with them against his, how she melted against him as they had stood in the rain.

 

With a small groan she sat up, finally disentangling their fingers, confusion wrinkling her brow as she grabbed at the shirt she was in, his shirt that he’d put her in before tucking her in. “This is yours.”

 

“Aye.” He rolled up, letting her gaze linger on his abdomen before pulling the covers up to his waist. “I didn’t think you should be sleeping in wet clothes.”

 

“Jon Snow!” Her voice was mock scandalized, fingers clutching the shirt away from her chest, distracting him efficiently. “You took my shirt off?”

 

Heat was crawling up his neck, flustering him thoroughly, a ridiculous thing since he was already thinking of the things he’d do to her with her permission. “I believe I’ve seen them before.” The flush of heat was now moving south, remembering past the panic of thinking she was shot, how her tits had fit in his hands.

 

“Touché.” There was a slightly evil glint in her eyes, her smile making him wary as she shifted onto her knees and shuffled toward him. “Thank you.”

 

“Dany—“ His train of thought was lost as her hand braced her weight on his thigh, lips pressing against his cheek causing his eyes to close as he absorbed the close press of her body. Then reaching out, he caught the wrist reaching across him, over to her true target laying on his bedside stand. “You’re going to have to be sneakier than that.”

 

She huffed out a breath, using her free hand to push messy hair out of her face as he kept a hold on the hand that had been reaching for his watch. “Maybe just more distracting?”

 

Before he could process what she had said, there was a leg thrown over him, his lap suddenly full and his hands reflexively grabbed handfuls of a lovely arse, teeth nipping sharply at his neck.

 

He was mindless, a ball of heat and lust, pulling her tighter into his lap, against him, her groan echoing in his ears, nose pushing at her cheek until she finally left the spot on his neck, mouth catching her top lip, her hips grinding down into him.

 

She could have his watch and anything else she wanted, fingers tugging into his loose hair, his hands sliding up under his own shirt, her skin as warm and addicting as the slide of her tongue against his. Fingernails scored flesh, hers biting into his shoulders, his fingers pressing into her hips to hold her where he needed her, heat seeping through to his cock, rubbing and rolling pressure, their breath starting to come in pants.

 

Her head rolled back for a moment as she gulped in air, neck exposed and he tasted the new flesh, her hands dropping to the hem of her shirt,  _ his shirt  _ and gods, he forgot about drawing it out, needing,  _ needy,  _ his hands covering hers to help and—

 

A knock on the door had them both jolting, frozen comically in place, his face pulling up from where it had been buried in the crook of her neck, the blue of her eyes swallowed by black.

 

“Dany!” Missandei’s voice was muffled from where she stood outside Daenerys’ door, the sound carrying through the open doorway between their rooms.

 

“Oh, gods.” 

 

It would be amusing if he hadn’t been seconds away from ending their mutual torture, hearing what she sounded like when he was buried deep within her. But another knock insisted and he groaned in frustration, helping Daenerys untangle her legs from the covers, smoothing up her calves before setting her on the floor, swinging his own feet over before catching her hand as she started to turn, pulling her in again for one last taste, lingering over her lips before letting go.

 

“I’ve got to….” She was flushed pink and gorgeous, a little wobbly on her feet.

 

“Go.” He helped her turn, couldn’t resist, pressing a kiss behind her ear and letting her take a step forward before reaching out, giving her a smart slap on that wonderfully round arse, laughing at the undignified squeal she let out and admiring the edges of a handprint as she made it into her room, his heart stuttering as she paused to give him the same look of longing that he was feeling, then closing the door between them.

 

He stood there staring at the solid wood between them, arousal rolling through his body, aching and needy as he rubbed his his hand over his face.  _ Fuck,  _ he needed to find some relief with her, wanted her so badly he could hardly think straight.

 

But… that needed to be put aside for now. It was time to concentrate on security, not how she moved against him, the needy sounds she made. Making his way to the shower, he could remember how soft her skin was under his hands, how urgently she had kissed him.

 

Instead of his normal routine of cold water first, he let it warm up, stripping careful out of his shorts and into the spray. Letting the heat soak into his muscles, he decided to take pity on himself, soaping up his hands, fisting his cock, closing his eyes, and put himself back five minutes in time to the feel of Daenerys rocking against him, surrounded by her soft scent, and let  _ her _ fill his mind while he found a release.

 

~*~*~

 

She was going to murder whoever was on the other side of her door. She wasn’t often one to condone violence, but with her ass cheek still stinging from his playful slap, as well as the thrumming of her blood singing through every vein in her body, she allowed herself a brief fantasy of strangulation as she ran her hands through her hair and pulled Jon’s shirt down from where he had rucked it up  _ almost  _ over aching breasts begging for his attention.

 

She threw open the door, scathing comment on the tip of her tongue, but Missandei didn’t even give her a moment before she swept in. “You’re so late!” she whispered frantically, her golden eyes sweeping from the crown of her head to her toes, eyebrows raising in suspicion and glancing around the room before she took Dany by the shoulders and firmly pushed her in the direction of the bathroom. She felt a flush spread across her face and neck, thanking all the gods old and new that she had the wherewithal to close the doors between their rooms.  “Did you not remember that Jhiqui was coming today? Prep for the  _ Whispers  _ shoot?”

 

_ Fuck.  _ Dei was right, and now she was about to have to endure a waxing with arousal still pulsing through every part of her, the memory of Jon’s callused hands digging into her hips making her squeeze her thighs together as everything inside of her clenched, her headache returning with a vengeance. “I’m sorry. I overslept.”

 

“Mmmhmmm.” Missandei’s agreement was noncommittal at best, opening the shower door and turning the water on, getting the temperature warm enough while Dany quickly stripped out of what was left of her clothing, pressing her face into Jon’s shirt for only a moment before she stepped into the shower to quickly try to scrub away any evidence of anything other than a calm, normal night of slumber.

 

“Remind me what the rest of today is again?” Maybe she could find a moment to slip into his office, to continue their… encounter.

 

Dei sighed, but was silent for a moment as she scrolled through her phone. Dany quickly lathered and rinsed, trying not to moan as her deft fingers swept against sensitive skin, a pitiful replacement for Jon’s mouth, hands, and tongue. Gods, when she finally got a hold of his cock, she was fucking done for. Even the thought of that growing length nestled between her thighs, begging to be ground down upon had her wet again and almost groaning audibly.

 

“Hey,” a sharp knock on the shower door brought her back to the present with a wince as the pain in her head spiked again. “Are you listening?”

 

“Having a hard time waking up,” her reply was strangled, even though she was trying to keep her mind focused on what Dei was saying.

 

“Jhiqui was supposed to start thirty-five minutes ago, so we’re already behind, and I’ll have to shuffle everything back, but it’s a full day. Especially because now that everything has to be routed through the manse.”

 

“Sorry,” Dany muttered quietly, a pang of regret running through her to go along with the rebellious roll of her stomach. She hadn’t given much thought to the struggle Dei would have with the lockdown, especially after her drunken night had taken such a breath-stealing turn. She needed to snap out of it, to push aside the taste of Jon, the sensation of his tongue against the pulse in her throat, his teeth sinking into her neck for just long enough to get through the day, and then,  _ then  _ they could finally come together in a tangle of lust and limb.

 

Another knock as the shower door opened and a toothbrush appeared with toothpaste already on it, as well as some willowbark tabs from Dei’s slim hands. “Dany. I need you to listen, please.”

 

“Right, yes. We’re behind—“ She took the pills, and a swallow full of shower water to knock them back before reaching for the toothbrush to furiously scrub her teeth, hoping that Jon hadn’t noticed how terrible her breath must have been.

 

“After Jhiqui, we have back-to-back calls with the Board to discuss what to do now, as well as your new City Watch Liaison idea. Hopefully the Fire Department will have some idea whether or not the building is salvageable. Your sketches for the Fall Line are due, but with Viserys going to Dorne for a few days, I have no idea who’s going to approve them, especially as Baelish is also out of town.”

 

That was odd. “When did Baelish leave?”

 

“Yesterday, or the day before— I’ll have to check with Ros.” More tapping as Dany finished rinsing off, slapping the water off and taking the towel Missandei offered in exchange for the toothbrush. “The CFDW is also scheduled for a call today to discuss the preliminaries for the award ceremony. There’s to be a luncheon the day before,”

 

“I doubt we’ll be attending that. Jon will have his hands full with the ceremony and I don’t think we should split his focus.” She’d also need to task Missandei with finding him a tux for the award ceremony, or at least a nicer suit.

 

“Yes, I’ve already put him in contact with their head of security so I’m sure they will be able to hash it all out.”

 

Dany stepped out of the shower, hoping the heat of the shower covered the beard burn along her neck, wrapping the towel around her hair as Missandei handed her a robe. “Also, Jorah wants a private word with you.”

 

_ Double fuck.  _ “All right, just put him wherever we have time.”

 

Apparently, that time wouldn’t be for another twelve hours, the day a whirl from beginning to end. She had been right, the waxing had been absolute torture, her skull pounding, and now every step she took was a reminder of how completely bare she was, every thought turning toward Jon sending a new rush of arousal through her, even though she hadn’t seen him since that morning.

 

The Fire Department has been full of terrible news— nothing definite yet regarding whether or not it was arson, but Dany knew in her heart that it was. Whoever was after her knew her well enough to decipher what would hurt her the most, and the blow to Rhaegar’s Harp had definitely been a blow to the heart of her. Thankfully, the Board had stopped their whining once Tyrion had procured their insurance information— their policy ironclad even in the instance of arson, and they could immediately start looking into alternative solutions.

 

Once a cost-comparison had been done, and available real estate procured, they could move forward with a decision, and Dany agreed to keep personally funding the families as needed for the foreseeable future.

 

With that business concluded, she moved on to finalizing her sketches, having Dei scan and email them to Viserys, hoping against the growing pit in her stomach that he had checked himself into rehab in Dorne. If she didn’t hear back from him in a few days, she would have Tyrion move ahead with production, while she spoke directly to the manufacturers and  _ ateliers  _ about colors and fabric choices. She wondered how difficult it might be to arrange a trip to Pentos— for work— of course, but also a chance for she and Jon to get away from King’s Landing and the growing danger of being there.

 

That particular reverie was broken by a knock on her study door, and she closed her eyes briefly before glancing at the clock. 9:30pm— she hadn’t even bothered to eat the salad that Missandei had brought in an hour ago, too wrapped up in her sketching to pay attention. “Come in,” she called, a thrill going through her with the hope that it was Jon on the other side.

 

Instead, her bear stuck his head into the room, and she bit back a sigh of resentment, having completely forgotten he wanted to have a word with her. Waving him in, she took a quick bite of food, her stomach finally settled after the roller coaster she had put it through the night before.

 

“Do you want me to come back later?” Jorah hesitated just inside the doorway, hovering awkwardly in a space that should be as familiar to him as the back of his own hand. Dany felt her heart give a bit of a twinge. She had never seen her bear look  _ small _ before. She’d been so caught up in her growing feelings for Jon that she hadn’t bothered to check in to see how Jorah was handling all of the sudden changes.

 

“Don’t be silly,” she said, waving him to the chair opposite her desk, the regret coursing through her still not giving her leave to be overly familiar. “I just haven’t had a chance to eat yet today.”

 

Jorah’s forehead disappeared into a field of wrinkles as his eyebrows raised, the firm set of his mouth telegraphing his disapproval. “I can speak to Missandei about making sure you have more time built into your schedule.”

 

Another sear of heat went through her at that offer, although her hunger for food was nothing compared to her hunger for Jon, and she crossed her legs under the desk at the sudden surge of need at the thought. Shaking her head and clearing her throat forcefully to regain control, she stuffed another bite of salad into her mouth to give herself something to do. “That’s not necessary, but thank you. Just one of those days, you know?”

 

The look he gave her was knowing, sending a shiver of awareness through her. “Seems like you’ll be having more of these days in the future,  _ ñuha prūmia. _ ”

 

She felt her heart swell at the use of the nickname he had given her years ago when she was still a child, full of wild hopes and dreams and the fears always seemed far and away whenever her bear had been with her. “I hope so,” she said quietly, fervently, battling against a sudden wave of emotion at the ever present thought that she may  _ not.  _ The closer the attacks got to her— to those she cared about— the more it felt like an inevitability.

 

_ Valar morghulis, after all.  _ So she might as well try to live while she could, take nothing for granted, including the friendship and support of the man in front of her.

 

“Have I ever thanked you? For all that you’ve done for me over the years?”

 

Jorah shifted uncomfortably in the chair across from her, his eyes darkening in the low light of the study. “Daenerys, that wasn’t what I…” his voice trailed off as he took her in, and she reached across the desk to place her hand over his larger one, squeezing his fingers lightly before letting go, before his hand could dwarf hers and linger.

 

“He’s a good man.” Her cheeks went pink at his quiet words. “He won’t let you down.”

 

There was something unsaid floating in the air, hovering, and she waited, knowing the man in front of her needed time to gather his thoughts, needed moments of quiet to spin and stretch before he could gather his courage to say something difficult. “Did you know I was the one on duty last night?”

 

Her heart stopped for a moment, his words shattering the rose colored bubble she had constructed around the previous night and this morning, something close to panic starting to thrum through her veins. “No,” she forced her voice to remain steady, somehow knowing she wasn’t going to like what Jorah was going to say next.

 

“Jon was compromised last night.” 

 

An icy tendril of fear wound its way around her spine. “What do you mean?”

 

Jorah shifted again, knowing her displeasure wouldn’t stop him from saying what needed to be said. “I don’t know what happened in the gazebo, we don’t have cameras out that far, but Daenerys… you’ve got to be more careful, even here at home. If what I saw later was any indication, the both of you were fairly drunk. What if Viserys, or worse—”

 

“Don’t—” her stomach was starting to churn again, the taste of rum haunting her, a feeling of dread growing within her at Jorah’s quiet words.

 

“Did anything happen last night that I need to know about?”

 

She glared at him, affronted on both her and Jon’s behalf that he would think so poorly of either of them. “That’s none of your business.”

 

His sigh was deep. “Dany, it is my business when the man whose job is to protect you isn’t able to do so.”

 

“That was my fault,” she looked Jorah squarely in the eye, steeling her spine to keep herself strong. “It won’t happen again.”

 

He stared at her, his blue eyes full of sadness.  “We all just want to keep you safe. Sometimes that also means protecting you from yourself. Please, just…” he ran a hand over his face, her old bear caught in his own cage of emotions. “Be careful— with him, with your own heart. With 

his.  _ If  _ something were to happen—” 

He couldn’t finish the thought, standing abruptly and leaning over the desk to drop a light kiss on her forehead before he excused himself, leaving her wrecked and unsure. She stabbed her fork into her salad, pushing it limply around the plate before shoving it aside and slumping back into her chair. 

The  _ if  _ lingered in the air, haunting her. She was so torn between trying to take what she wanted— with fire and blood if necessary— just so that she knew that if the worst were to happen, she had done her best to live her life to the fullest, to take every opportunity presented to her and fly with it, not held back by fear or doubt. However, now she wasn’t quite sure what  _ the worst _ truly meant.

She didn’t want to die, she felt that will to live with every fiber of her being, but if her dying meant that others would be spared then—

She shoved back from her desk with a huff, hating the fact that she was being forced to consider these dark and abhorrent thoughts. Especially now that Jon was tangled up in them as well. He was adamant that they had time, that he would be enough, that he would keep her safe, and she trusted him, but… It was hard to put into words— her fear that no matter what he might be willing to do to ensure her survival, that she still might not— and if he were to sacrifice himself for her, she didn't know what would become of her either. Nothing good, that was sure. 

She paced mindlessly around her study, her sanctuary that now felt more like a prison with every passing moment. She dropped onto the sofa where he had first spilled some of his dark story to her, to see if she could help him shoulder his heavy burden, the same as he was trying to do for her. Had that truly been only a week ago? So much had happened since then— they had gone too far to find their way back to neutrality, and even if she could, she didn’t want to, even now everything inside of her craving his presence, his smile, his arms around her holding her closely.

She was in deep shit now— any chance of protecting herself from him dashed upon the rocks. And if she couldn’t see herself safely back to shore? Well, then she might as well go full steam ahead. 

She stood, suddenly aching to see him, the entire day having flown by somehow. Likely the longest they had gone removed from the other’s presence. She stashed her sketch books in the drawer, locking it again before she let herself out into the dim hall and made her way down to his office.

His door was closed, and she tapped on it lightly, waiting for the tenor of his voice to beckon her before she opened the door and stepped inside. He looked tired, and a bit annoyed, phone pressed to his ear as she leaned against the door jamb, not wanting to interrupt.

“Hang on, Robb,” he bit out, his jaw clenching as he spoke to his boss, and she felt an eyebrow raise in curiosity. He’d been short on the phone this morning as well. She hoped everything was ok between them. There was a brief pause as he looked her over, and she felt a small smile creep across her face. Even cranky and stressed, he was still the best thing she had laid eyes on today, and she longed to show him just how much she had come to care for him, her pulse kicking up at the hungry look in his eyes.

“I’m finally done for the day,” she whispered as he held the phone to his chest, covering the mouthpiece.

His answering groan dashed any hope she had of him being able to join her immediately, but that was all right. She could entertain herself for as long as necessary. “I’ve still got some things to iron out, but I’ll send Jorah up with you to do the sweep.”

She bit her lip, not sure if she or Jorah could handle that at the moment. “Is Grey available at all?”

A dark look passed over his face, sending a shiver down her spine. “I’ll check.” He stood to stretch, the ligaments in his neck popping. He tapped the comms, “Grey— you available to sweep Dany’s room?”

There was a brief pause before Jon nodded, crossing to her, as she was still lingering in the doorway. “He’ll meet you at the stairs.”

She stared up at him, wanting nothing more than to go up on her toes and pull him down into a gentle kiss full of promise, but in the doorway they were squarely in the view of gods knew how many cameras, and with Jorah’s confession of witnessing their indiscretions the night prior, she was hesitant to put on any more of a show for the swing shift. Instead she reached for his free hand, giving it a soft squeeze. “Goodnight, Jon.”

He blew out a harsh breath, reflexively squeezing back before dropping her hand and turning abruptly, bringing the phone back up to his ear. “Yes, I hear you, Robb— I said hang on.”

She eased out of the doorway, closing the door as silently as possible before it jerked back open and she turned back to him, his dark eyes searching hers. “Night, Dany.” 

She fed him a small smile. “Good luck.”

The door closed, and she made her way to the main staircase, Grey waiting stoically for her, and she followed him up the stairs, past Viserys’ empty bedroom, and up the last set of stairs to wait outside as Grey swept through her room. He stepped out, and motioned for her to wait for a moment, before he tapped his comm. “All clear,” he said, and there was another moment of blankness before Grey nodded. “One more moment, Miss Dany,” he said before disappearing into Jon’s room as well.

He popped out, closing and locking Jon’s door firmly behind him. “You’re all set. Have a good night.”

“You too, Grey,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

She let herself inside her room, locking the door behind her, suddenly overtaken by a bone deep tiredness, her lack of sleep and heavy drinking the night before catching up to her in a rush. She yawned, debating whether or not a second shower today was necessary before opting to just wash her face and jumpstart her nightly routine from there.

The maids had freshened the room, but were obviously confused upon finding an article of clothing not belonging to her, as Jon’s shirt was folded and waiting on the end of her bed. She didn’t give herself time to overthink it, just shrugged out of her day wear and let the soft cotton of his shirt caress her bare breasts for the second night in a row, burying her face briefly in the sleeve to breathe in the scent of him.

She went about her nightly routine, done in record time, her anticipation of Jon’s arrival now in direct competition to the yawns that were coming one after the other. She stared for a few moments at her nest on the floor before turning, pressing the button to the hidden door between their rooms. As the door slid away, she realized that she’d never really looked at the sparse room, so different than hers.

Instead of the greens and golds and giant four poster bed that dominated her room, his was small and almost blank by comparison, the decor done in whites and greys, and what appeared to be a double bed at best. A small smile spread across her face— no hardship there— the smaller the bed the more creative they would have to be about sharing it. Instead of personal effects, an absurd number of potted plants adorned most of the flat surfaces, and she was fascinated to find that he only had a glass shower in his bathroom, no claw-foot tub large enough for two.

He was neat, suitcase tucked away into his open closet, no clutter to be found that she could lightly snoop her way through, although the temptation to do so was strong, her curiosity and hunger to get to know him better almost overwhelming. The air conditioning kicked on and she shivered, bare legs drawing together beneath his dark grey shirt. With work keeping them apart so much today, she wasn’t entirely sure if she was being too forward, or not quite forward enough, but when faced with the choice of waiting in his bed for at least the chance of his strong arms to envelop her or attempting to sleep on the floor— she found there really wasn’t a choice at all.

She slipped into his bed, drawing the covers over her legs, knowing she was losing her battle with sleep, the weight of the last few days wearing her down, the comfort of a real bed beckoning her, and before she knew it, she had drifted off again.

~*~*~

He still had a headache.

The overhead view of the Red Keep was up on his computer, blueprints on his tablet and a handwritten list of the men who would be on security duty, and still too many spots he couldn’t control.

It was well past the time he should be drinking coffee, night having fallen some time ago, his eyes tracking Daenerys through the manse like a stalker, wanting to steal a few moments to go sit on her couch, listen to her use that haughty voice that made men shut up and do her bidding.

Pausing for a moment, he pushed his fingers into his closed eyes, trying to relieve the pressure, knowing from his call to the City Watch that nothing had been passed on from the Arson Investigator and that they didn’t think Daenerys at some ceremony was enough to warrant more than a few officers.

Rolling his neck, he felt the vertebrates crack and pop, impatient fingers finding the darts that Tyrion had procured for him, and he selected one, gave his wrist a quick snap and heard the satisfying  _ thunk _ of it sticking into the board.

Gods, he would rather be thinking about waking up next to Dany, even if hungover, than stressing about not having enough men to cover this event properly. Taking a sip of his cooling coffee, he looked again at the entry points, tried not to think of how hungrily she had kissed him, of how she’d smelled of shampoo and summer rain, how blue her eyes looked in his dark grey shirt.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, he forced himself back on task and ignored the heat starting to boil in his veins, making notes of possible locations on where it would be easiest to get in unnoticed and wished he had a clue as to what this person had planned next.

A knock on the door interrupted him, and he foolishly snapped his head up, hoping for that smile and silver hair— even though he hadn’t seen her leave the study— and tried not to be too annoyed at Jorah standing in the doorway. Blowing out a quick breath, he motioned the other man in, tapped a spot on his map.

“You’ve been here before.” Jorah sat when he nodded at the chair on the other side of desk and Jon angled his monitor. “They’re being presented with the award in the Throne Room—“ He has to appreciate that the Keep has been turned into a venue for the arts, a little preserved piece of history. “—and that will be locked down tight. So where are you going to try and attack from?”

Jorah studied it for a moment, tapping his finger on the desk while he considered the options. “Easiest would be at the car. We’re the most vulnerable there.”

“Aye.” He pointed at the screen. “Everyone is going to expect us to come down Dragon’s Way.” It helped, he realized, tension releasing from his shoulders, to have someone to talk it out with, and for a brief moment he wished he and Robb were seeing eye to eye. “So what if we come down River Row instead?”

Jorah sat back and looked him over carefully, the look making him want to bristle and snap, flex some authority, the other part of him taken back to being a boy on the cusp of adulthood, waiting for someone to notice he was actually smart. 

“Clever.” There was a pause, something unreadable in the older man’s eyes. “When you got here, I ran a background check on you.”

Of course he would have, Jon realized, though it still made him want to squirm in his seat, the feeling of being under scrutiny not as easy for him as it should be. “I’d hope so.”

“My father thinks a lot of you.”

Anxiety grabbed him with icy tendrils, laughing maniacally as it tightened its hold and he  _ hated _ that the mention of the Night’s Watch still did this to him. “Lord Commander Mormont is a good man.” He cleared his throat.

Jorah made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “Told me that you have it in you to be a great leader. Men want to follow where you lead. It was rather annoying, actually, to hear all this praise being heaped on you.”

His own annoyance was growing, the urge to snarl as he tried to see whatever blow was coming his way. “I highly doubt you came into my office to tell me that your father is grateful I saved his life.”

“You’re smart, run a good operation,” there was a plan being set up and Jon fought the instinct to lean back in his chair and cross his arms. “Except under all that training is still a young man.”

That caused his spine to stiffen, anger starting to brew. “Quit talking in circles, Jorah.”

“Daenerys likes you. I’ve been around her since she was a girl and I’ve never seen her look at someone the way she looks at you. Yesterday was a terrible day in the wake of a shitty string of bad days.” He paused. “You compromised her safety last night.”

The denial rose up in his throat, ready to be thrown back at the other man, muscles coiling with the reflex to defend when he made himself stop, think. And he realized with utter horror that Jorah was absolutely correct. 

“You’re both adults, and the gods know she wouldn’t respond well to someone telling her what to do—“ Jorah have him another close look. “—and I doubt you would either, so I’ll offer you this. Next time the two of you decide to be irresponsible like that, warn your security team so we can make sure the threat isn’t crawling across the back lawn while you two drink yourselves into a miserable morning.”

He should probably dress the man down, remind him exactly who was in charge of security, but it was difficult when he realized the point was correct. He shouldn’t have indulged his wants like that because she was the priority, not his feelings. 

Nodding his head, he gave his acknowledgment. “Agreed.”

“Good.” Jorah stood up, hesitated. “Don’t you dare hurt her, Jon Snow.”

Those words rang in his ears, a fine warning that was already a deep-seated fear, making him wonder what he thought he was doing, how he was going to walk both sides of this line, not sure how he could give it up, give  _ her _ up now. 

The ringing of his cell broke his brooding, the sight of Robb’s name coming up making him roll his eyes, but he answered, getting up to partially close his door, letting it almost go to voicemail before answering it. “Hello.”

“You sound unpleasant”

It was deliberate baiting, typical behavior for the pair of them and Jon frustratedly told himself he would not fall for it this time, dropping heavily into his chair. “I’m fuckin’ busy, not all of us get to spend a few days on the beaches of Dorne.”

“I go where the job takes me. Speaking of jobs, I got all the info you sent me.”

“Have you looked at it? I need all heads together on this.” The light rap on his door was louder than Robb’s chuckle, or maybe it was because of his hope of who was on the other side, the day long and tedious without her. 

She was silvery and starry, bright in the falling night and his stomach did a little swoop as she came through the door at his quiet call, his brother currently rattling off the list of things Viserys had been doing that day, something he really couldn’t care less about. “Hang on, Robb.”

There were dark smudges under her eyes, head resting where she leaned back against the door jamb and she looked gorgeous and real and he wanted to go pull her into his arms, unwind them both from the last few days.

“I’m finally done for the day.” 

Her voice was low and he groaned, realizing she was turning in, feeling the jab of disappointment even though it was technically not his right to “tuck” her in, wanting some time alone with her so they could sift through the changing terrain. “I’ve still got some things to iron out, but I’ll send Jorah up with you to do the sweep.”

“Is Grey available at all?”

Something uncertain passed over her face, anger flashing through him and he wondered if maybe he and Jorah were  _ not  _ done on the subject. “I’ll check.” He rolled his neck again, tension bleeding through his system as he tapped the comms, “Grey— you available to sweep Dany’s room?”

_ “I’ll be right there.” _

He nodded to Grey’s voice and moved to his feet, ignoring Robb’s annoyed voice in the background of the phone he was ignoring, crossed over to her and restrained himself from reaching out to touch her like he so badly wanted to. “He’ll meet you at the stairs.”

She was looking at him with the same longing he felt, and he almost shuddered as she reached for his hand, giving it a soft squeeze that made his heart flip. “Goodnight, Jon.”

He squeezed back, letting out a huff of frustration at not getting  _ more,  _ duty calling in the form of his brother still waiting on the phone. “Yes, I hear you, Robb— I said hang on.”

Watching her retreat made him close his eyes, wanting to follow, Robb asking him something and as the door suddenly almost shut, he reached out to pull it back open. Daenerys turned back to him with surprise, a sliver of hope in her eyes, and he hoped that she understood how much he  _ wanted  _ to go. “Night, Dany.” 

Fuck, even those small smiles were addicting. “Good luck.”

She couldn’t see him roll his eyes as he shut the door again, phone back up to his ear as he moved back to the monitors, watched Grey pick her up right where he said he would. “You still there?”

“Oh, do you finally have time to talk to me again?”

Jon felt the chill from Robb’s tone and fought the urge to hang up. This was getting ridiculous. “I have another job, if you remember. I’m not just a security coordinator.”

“No, you’re a stubborn arse.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he slowly counted to five, listened to his deep breaths before he finally answered. “And you’re a dick, so we’re even.” Not even Robb’s chuckle could swing his mood back around and he was ready to finish the conversation. “Could you please go over the blueprints and the schedule and see what you come up with?”

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“No.” He shook his head even though Robb couldn’t see it. “I want you to look at this without me influencing your opinion on it.”

“There he is, the man with a plan.” A tv switched on in the background. “I’ll look it over tonight and get back to you.”

Shoulders slumping forward, he scanned over his monitors again, frowned as he looked again at the buildings in the area, ending his call and starting his search on the owners of the buildings.

The next time he looked up, his eyes hurt and his mind was foggy, not exactly sure how much time had passed or how much he had accomplished. Shutting everything down for the night, he made his way up to his room, stopping himself from peeking into Dany’s room and checking in on her, knowing the likelihood of their adjoining door being open was fairly high.

There was moonlight coming in through his open curtains as he let himself into his room, the soft glow showing their door ajar and then tangling with the matching hair on his pillow, the funny little flip again in his stomach as his mind registered Daenerys in his bed.

He moved quietly, pulse thrumming with delight that she had chosen to crawl back under his covers, the stress of the day melting a bit more away as he toed off his boots, placed his gun on the nightstand and slipped out of the holster.

“Jon?” 

The sound was sleepy and broken, eyes barely fluttering open and he made a shushing noise, bending down in a flood of affection to kiss her forehead. “Go back to sleep, Dany.”

She nestled further down into the mattress and he sighed, too many emotions to name as he watched her settle before turning his back with reluctance, made his way to the bathroom for a quick rinse in the shower, a stern lecture to himself that she had come to him for a safe place to sleep, away from her nightmares, and that was what she’d get from him that night.

Without turning on a light, he slipped into the shorts he was going to sleep in, a warmth filling his chest as he climbed in the bed beside her, heart fluttering as she turned towards him, a content noise in the back of her throat as he gathered her up, the soft fabric of his t-shirt that she was sleeping in, brushed against his scars.

It was the easiest thing in the world to just close his eyes.

~*~*~

The nightmare at least waited until the early dawn to wake him, leaving him gasping for air, Daenerys undisturbed as she curled into his side. 

He lay there for a few moments, letting the heat of her skin seep into the ice covering him, her soft snores puffing against the side of his face, soothing the jagged edges until he felt like he took his allowance of comfort and he carefully untangled their limbs, regret plaguing his movement as he slid out of the warm cocoon they had been wrapped in.

Head down low, old habits dying hard, he stepped into a cold shower, sucking in a painful breath, sleep fleeing with the shock to his system. With a shake of wet hair, he turned on the hot, let it flood over him with a sigh of relief, pushing firmly down any traces of the dark, hating that it had managed to wriggle into his stolen moments of solace.

The room was still quiet as he continued to ready himself for the day, sun streaming in, bathing everything in its golden hue, washing away the last of the night as he slipped into a clean shirt, pushing up the sleeves, enjoying the moment of trying not to wake her and gave himself the brief, fleeting moment of imagining this routine day after day.

A slight stirring from the bed had him turning back towards her, perching himself precariously on the edge and pushing back the mess of hair, almost forgetting to breathe when her eyes blinked slowly open, mouth pursing as she figured out her surroundings. 

“Mornin’.”  

A slow smile turned up the corners of that pretty mouth, her eyes closing for just a moment, her hum vibrating against his thigh as she burrowed her face closer to him. “It’s early.”

Her voice was husky with sleep, settling with a heat in his groin, but he ignored it to twist strands of her hair in his fingers, thumb brushing over her cheek. “Aye. Go back to sleep for a bit.”

With effort, she propped herself up on her elbow. “Come back to bed, instead.”

Fuck, it was a tempting offer, the urge to see that pout turn into pleasure was growing desperately and he almost gave in to the temptation, taking it slow be damned to one of the seven hells, his response on the tip of his tongue and ready to be given as he leaned down to cover her mouth with his own.

The shrill of his phone made him jolt and he closed his eyes, silently cursing whoever dared to call him this early. 

A glance at the screen dissipated some of his annoyance though and he moved off the bed to settle into the chair, holding up his phone to answer. “Little sister.”

Arya’s face filled the screen— she was insistent that all calls done face to face while she was over the Narrow Sea— her eyes narrowed at him, head tilted sideways in study. 

“It’s really early and you're up and dressed? What’s wrong with you?”

He chuckled, amused and rather happy, getting to talk to the only sibling he was currently getting along with. “I’m always up early. Why are you up already?”

Dany shifted in the bed quietly, and he glanced over to her, eyes lingering on her bare legs as she slid out of the covers. 

“Early morning lessons before it gets hot.” Arya’s voice pulled him back to the phone. “What’s wrong with your face?”

“Nothin’ is wrong with my face.” She was up now, the hem of his shirt barely covering her arse and he almost hit the end button on the phone. 

“You looked tired, but normal tired, not that haunted look.”

“Shut up.” It was a good natured reply and he reached out to snag Dany by the hand as she started to leave. “Hang on Arya.”

Despite the protests, he dropped the phone face down on the nightstand and stood, tugging her closer, using his finger to tilt her chin up. “Grey’s got you this morning.” 

She was right there and it was too much to resist so he leaned closer, a lingering open mouthed kiss on her awaiting lips. “Jorah’s off for a few days, his weekend, so I’ll get you later.” 

He kissed her again, a hand on her lower back pulling her in tighter and  _ fuck,  _ he was half hard already, her mouth pliantly moving with his. 

With a sharp intake of breath he let her go, enjoyed that she looked as aroused as he felt. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Scooping the phone back up, he watched Dany leave, something like longing settling in his chest as their door closed behind her and finally he turned his eyes back to the screen. 

“Umm, hello. What was that?” Arya studied him. “Was that a woman? Did you have a woman in your room? Aren’t you on a job?”

“Yes I’m on a job and I’m not answering anymore of your questions.” Giving her a smirk, he pretended to drop the phone, pulling it back up when she squawked. “How’s school?”

He spent another fifteen minutes on the phone realizing how much he missed his sister but having a difficult time concentrating, his mind starting to form an idea, still a little murky in detail but he knew it would come in clearer given a little time. 

After he said goodbye to Arya, he checked his watch, decided it wasn’t too early to start shifting through plans and nail down their security for the award ceremony, hurrying himself along when the sound of Daenerys’ shower came through the wall, an image that made him growl with want, so he fled. 

The hall was empty, no Missandei hurrying down with Dany’s schedule and he made it to his office, found Grey in there grabbing some comms, surprised as he looked up to find Jon there. 

“Everything okay?”

Gods, did no one in the manse wake up early on a regular basis? “Aye.” He put in his own comms. “Hoping to get everythin’ sorted out before we actually have to do it.”

“Good idea.” Grey gave him a nod before he went back out the door, footsteps headed towards Dany’s room.

Turning on his electronics, he made his way to the kitchen for some coffee, gave a polite hello to one of the maids and retreated back to his office, ready to start his day. 

It was tedious work, his focus never on his task for very long before he’d scan for Dany, an excited thrum in his veins at waking up next to her  _ again,  _ looking forward to when they did more than sleep in his bed. 

Pulling his maps back up, he sent emails to owners and head of security for the buildings around the Red Keep, asking for camera information, and crossed that off his list. A chime informed him that Robb has gotten off his arse and out of the sun, his ideas carefully outlined in a proper plan and emailed. 

The morning passed by, his head finally back to his job and he was waiting for a return call, his gun taken apart and cleaning supplies strewn across his desk, when a knock on his door frame had him looking up. 

She was sunshine and fresh air, a stupid grin coming to his face that made him glad there were no other witnesses, shamelessly ogling her in the tight workout pants she was poured into. 

“Am I interrupting?”

“No.” 

Hooking his foot around an empty chair, he dragged it closer, contemplated having her lock the door so he could pull her into his lap, try and satisfy the craving for her he had developed. 

But he didn’t, making himself content with her tucking into the chair, propping her chin on her knee and studying his desk. 

“What are you doing?”

There was a wrinkle between her brows that he wanted to trace. “Cleaning my gun. Proper Night Watch’s etiquette, make sure your weapon is clean and functionable at all times.”

“I didn’t realize they came apart like that.”

With another smile, he reached out for the arm of her chair, that idea he had earlier growing another root, and pulled her closer, the light scent of her shampoo hitting his nostrils and making him want to bury his nose in there. 

Instead, he put the handgun back together, quickly, her eyes not able to keep up. “So— magazine out. Pull back the slide, verify the chamber is empty.”

He knew it was, but demonstrated anyways, taking his time so she could track him movements. “Press here and the slide comes off. Be careful not to lose that spring.”

Catching the spring he set it to the side. “Now it just needs a little oil, make sure there’s no dirt or debris.”

Her curious hum had his mind spinning, Jorah and Robb’s words ringing in his ears as he casually asked. “That gun you have… have you ever shot it?”

“No.” Her bottom lip was trapped between her teeth as she examined the empty magazine, arm pressed to his as she leaned forward. 

Nobody was around and he could no longer resist, cupping her neck and kissing her temple, her head turning and grabbing his shirt, holding him there long enough to catch his mouth with hers, the jolt going clear down to his toes. 

A noise left the back of his throat as they parted, and he forgot about the gun oil on his fingers as he pushed the hair behind her ear, deciding in that instant that he wasn’t going to hide behind excuses or other people’s opinions. 

“You want to get out of here for a while? Tonight?”

~*~*~

“Yes.”  _ Tonight, tomorrow night, all the nights to come, all the nights she had left. _

She could feel the blush spreading across her cheeks, that same wide grin he had shot her as she stepped over the threshold falling across his own and she couldn’t help herself. Her fingers tightened in his shirt again, drawing him closer, her lips closing over his in a needy bite, eager to demonstrate to him just how  _ ready _ she was. She was done letting doubt and fear and exhaustion hold her back; she needed him to know how much she was coming to care for him.

And she was going to break him tonight. Preferably with her thighs.

His hands were in her hair, the smell of the gun oil from his casually arousing demonstration wrapping around them both as she slid her tongue hungrily against his own, lingering for a moment before pulling back, his bottom lip still stuck between her teeth. His heart pounded under her fingertips, in time with her own, making her feel as if she had just run her second 5K of the morning. She wanted him hard for her before she left this office, leaving no doubt in either of their minds where, exactly, tonight would be headed. And, if she could find a way to make him ditch his phone to keep those thrice damned early morning interruptions at bay? 

All the better.

He closed his eyes as his forehead dropped against hers, another groan emanating from his chest as she trailed her fingers over him, down his arm to gently grasp his wrist and turn it over so she could read the time on the watch that  _ should  _ be enclosed around her own. “I still have a few hours before I can get away, more beauty prep for tomorrow.”

Her free hand found its way to the nape of his neck, tugging lightly at the loose curls there, and he tensed against a shudder of pleasure as she nuzzled along his beard, cursing the chair arm between them, wanting nothing more than to straddle him in his own desk chair and grind down against him until he begged for mercy. 

“How’s six?” His voice was strangled with effort as her fingers found their way to his waist, teasing along the edge of his soft shirt against the strip of skin she found there, dragging her fingers back and forth across his abdomen, sliding into the space between his obliques and his jeans. Her other hand abandoned his hair to sweep under his shirt and up the ridges of his stomach, his scars that she longed to trace with her tongue rough against her fingertips, unsure if the tensing muscle beneath her teasing was voluntary or not.

“Six works,” she pressed a soft kiss to the spot right below his ear, the smell of his cologne making her want to devour him where he sat. “What should I wear?”

Another groan as she worked her way down his neck, his own hands finally remembered as he grasped her wandering fingers, removing them from beneath his shirt, and bringing them to rest on his chest, trapped under his own. “I don’t know.”

“Nothing it is.”

With a curse, he sat forward in his chair, dropping her hands before surging to his feet and placing himself at the opposite end of his desk, his eyes dark with want, surely a reflection of her own as she also drew herself to her feet. “Dany…”

“Jon…”

He stared at her helplessly, curled fists planted on his desk as he leaned forward, and she had to bite back a grin. “Something nice, but y’know. Not too nice.”

“That’s a wide range of options for a model, Jon.”

“I trust you.”

She huffed out a breath, some of the hair he had pulled loose from her ponytail floating in the air between them. She took a step towards him, a small giggle escaping as he took a matching step back. She held up both hands in surrender, enjoying his wary look more than she should as she slowly advanced on him. She stopped when she was toe to toe with him, the barest inches of space that separated them vibrating with yearning.

Her face tilted up toward his, lips parted, waiting for him to melt into her. “I’ll see you at six.”

He didn’t disappoint, rough fingertips sliding along her chin and into her hair to cup the back of her head as a firm, but chaste kiss was pressed upon her lips before he physically turned her around and gave her a gentle nudge out of his space. The look she threw him over her shoulder was dark and starving, but she flipped her ponytail and made her way back down to her study where Missandei, Irri, and Jhiqui waited, having transformed her workspace into a mini day spa for the afternoon.

Wardrobe had yet to arrive, so Jhiqui would need to do the majority of her fittings the next day, but the client had sent a list of preparation ahead of time, and she wasted no time in setting up the masseuse table they used for in-home treatments while Irri readied her equipment to give Dany a full facial and body scrub. Missandei was ready with another robe as Dany exchanged her workout clothes for the soft silk and settled back to let the ladies work.

Hours later, she emerged from her study covered in a salt scrub, with freshly manicured hands and feet, a fierce red covering her toenails while her fingernails remained more neutral. She had given the ladies the rest of the day off, and instructions to give her extra time in the morning as the shoot was not scheduled for the late afternoon. All that was left for her to do was shower and change for her dinner with Jon, Irri’s magic all but removing the bruises to her face through her skills.

_ Blood magic and sorcery, indeed. _

To his credit, Grey didn’t even blink twice at her as she led the way to her room to shower, waiting impatiently as he swept the room before she could get inside and start the water running. She ducked into her closet as the water came up to temperature, mulling over Jon’s exquisitely specific direction of  _ nice, but not too nice _ .

Men.

The pedicure demanded open-toed sandals to keep from destroying it overnight— black strappy numbers that tied above her ankles. She flipped through her dresses, dismissing most as too much almost immediately. Toward the back of her closet, however, lay a little black number she had rarely worn. The top covered her from neck to navel in a blousy way, however the back was open down to the base of her spine, and the skirt was so tight that even a thong would show through the delicate fabric— she’d just have to go without— a silver sheen picking up in the material in certain lighting.

She could feel the wicked smile crawling over her face as she pulled it down from the rack, laying it out on her bed, and tossing a denim jacket next to it to dress it down just in case. She glanced at the closed door between their rooms, half tempted to leave it open to give him just a taste of what lay ahead, but decided against it at the last moment, wanting to savor every moment of his eyes on her, burning through her.

Her shower was quick, the salt scrub working in tandem with her recent wax, leaving her bare and smooth and glowing. She blow dried her hair, brushing it until it shone like spun silver, twisting it back into a simple knot at the base of her neck, and applied her makeup with a deft hand, what remained of the bruises disappearing completely under the light powder. A swirl of a deep red lipstick to match her toes, and she reached for her favorite perfume, placing a dab on the inside of both wrists, behind her ears, and  _ gods—  _ to punish herself and him— light touches to both of her nipples and her nether lips, the streak of want that coursed through her nearly buckling her knees and she hadn’t even seen him yet. 

She stepped into the bedroom to slip into the dress, shimmying it down over her thighs, hoping that the dark fabric would be enough to keep any evidence of inevitable arousal hidden.

Her only accessories were a silver ring on her right index finger that had belonged to her mother, and a simple necklace that she wore down her back, the silver hoop resting on one of the notches of her spine. With her shoes strapped on, jacket and clutch over her arm, she checked the clock— 6:05pm. Not bad at all, with just the right amount of fashionable lateness to keep him on his toes.

She peeked out her door, belatedly realizing they hadn’t agreed on a meeting place. When she didn’t see him lingering in the hallway, she figured they must be meeting in either his office or hers, and made her way down to the ground floor.

He was waiting for her at the base of the grand staircase, and she felt her heart stutter in her chest at the sight of him. A form fitting navy blue shirt hugged every divet and bulge in his chest, a long, black jacket also slung over his arm. The black skinny jeans he wore drew her attention first to his powerful thighs, and second to his glorious ass. Her mouth went dry at the memory of how it had felt beneath the palm of her hand before she had fled gleefully out into the summer rain.

His hair was pulled back, even his dress shoes polished and shining. He looked breathtaking, and with his shoulder holster and visible sidearm, every inch a warrior of legend. She gripped the bannister as she tried to remember how to walk, commanding suddenly shaking legs to  _ move _ , to go to him, to finally make him irrevocably hers.

He turned as she descended, the sudden fire in his eyes at the sight of her igniting her immediately, making her quiver with barely controlled want, the need to take him by the hand and lead him back to their rooms, forgetting whatever he had planned for them was so strong she had to squeeze her thighs together to keep from embarrassing herself before he had even touched her.

Once he did, she was sure that she would burn away— nothing left of her but ash in the wind.

Her mouth was dry as she tried to regain her composure, drawing even with him at the base of the stairs. It seemed he was similarly dumbstruck, neither able to do anything but stare giddily at the other, a delight crawling through her at the thrill of simply being with him.

Jon was the first to break the spell, shaking his head before motioning for her to precede him. “Shall we?”

She had to lick her lips before she could form words, tilting her head to stare up at him, to let him see the hunger in her eyes. “Let’s.”

She took a step forward, and his hand found the small of her back, his calloused fingers grazing against her warm skin with the barest touch before he jerked his hand back as if burned, allowing her to walk ahead of him. Amused, she looked back over her shoulder, finding him staring first at his fingers, and then at the wide expanse of smooth skin at her back before his eyes found hers.

_ Fuck _ . A shiver of anticipation lit through her at the towering burn in them, his eyes black with barely contained desire as he stepped even to her once more, this time running a knuckle down the notches of her spine until he landed at the base of it, his fingers lightly running over the rise of her ass and she shivered again.

“Jon,” she didn’t recognize the sound of her own voice.

“Aye?” He seemed to be mesmerized as his fingers continued to caress her lower back and she had all she could do to not to shove him against the wall and have her way with him right there in the middle of the fucking hall.

“Cameras,” she said lightly, Jorah’s warning still fresh in her mind, and he snapped his eyes up to hers, snatching her hand and marching determinedly through the kitchen and out to the garage.

His voice was rough as he threw open the garage door. “I thought we’d take Robb’s car, since he left it here.”

She blinked. “Are we going by ourselves?” She didn’t know what she thought would happen, but the thought of being truly alone with him sent another shiver of anticipation down her spine.

He looked a bit sheepish for only a moment before a steel descended over him as he pressed into her space. “I won’t let anythin’ happen to you tonight. Not that you don’t want to happen, anyway.”

She heard the vow in his tone, her hand going to his cheek before she could stop herself, and he pressed a light kiss to her palm, his nose burying into the pulse point of her wrist for only a moment, before reaching to open the passenger door. He offered her a hand to help her climb into the SUV, his hand drifting to her thigh to give it a lingering squeeze before he closed the door and quickly bounded to the driver’s side.

He climbed in, throwing his jacket into the backseat, adjusting the mirrors and snapped his seatbelt into place before he turned to her, seriousness plain across his features. “What’s going to happen to that lipstick when I kiss you as soon as we’re out of the sight lines?”

Something like a moan escaped from her lips as she crossed her legs and turned to him, tossing her jacket and clutch into the back as well. “You’ll just have to find out, Jon Snow.”

His knuckles turned white, his grip on the steering wheel so strong, and he shook his head again before pressing the button to the garage door opener, the summer sunlight pouring over them as he threw the car into reverse and backed them out onto the driveway. His hand found hers as they passed the gate, Jon nodding to the man on duty, turning out onto the main road.

She idly watched the boundaries of the property pass by, and they were no sooner past the last fence marker when the car suddenly jerked to a stop. Jon yanked on her hand, pulling her half into him, her own seatbelt stopping her forward progress with a jerk as his other hand delved deep into her hair, and his tongue swept past her parted lips. She groaned wantonly into his open mouth, her own tongue doing everything it could to give as good as it got, her fingers gripping his thigh while she tried desperately to release the catch of the seatbelt, anything to press closer to him.

His teeth sank into her lip as she finally found the buckle, and she flung the seatbelt away as she lunged across the console between them, her hand creeping up the inside of his thigh until Jon jerked his head back, pulling his hands out of her now mussed hair to capture her wandering fingers. Her lipstick had held, no evidence of it painted across his face and she gasped for breath, her chest heaving, the console digging into her hip, suddenly remembering where they were.

“I forgot this is your boss’ car.” She could feel her face heating rapidly as she slid back into her own seat.

His shit-eating grin filled her with delight. “Worse. It’s my brother’s.”

She blinked, staring at him for a full thirty seconds, trying to process that. “What?”

A brief look of confusion passed over his handsome features, and he cocked his head to the side, studying her. “Robb is my brother. Stark Securities is the family business.”

“But your last name is Snow?”

A shadow fell across his face, and she regretted saying anything. “Not actual brothers— cousins. My mom died when I was young, I was raised with her brother and his family.”

She brushed an unruly curl behind his ear, knocked loose in their eagerness. “I didn’t know,” she murmured, her heart aching for him, intimately familiar with the pain of never knowing a mother’s love. “I’m sorry.”

He took a deep breath, the feeling that he was mentally pushing aside something deeply uncomfortable tearing at her, cursing herself for putting a damper on their evening a record setting seven minutes in. “I’m just surprised no one told you about me and Robb.”

She shrugged lightly, her thumb smoothing across his cheek. “No reason to, I guess? No wonder you two fight like an old married couple.”

His huff of laughter and flicker of a smile set them to rights, and she pulled him closer for one more kiss, her lips lightly passing over his, urgency gone for the moment. She settled back and clicked her seatbelt into place as he took stock of their surroundings again and threw the car into drive to continue on their way. “If you think Robb and I bicker a lot, wait until you meet Sansa.”

Her heart squeezed, the thought that he so obviously wanted to keep her around to meet the rest of his family startling and warming her in equal measure. “Was that the one on the phone this morning?”

She flipped down the sun visor and slid the cover to the mirror back, checking her makeup, and setting to work to calm her tousled hair as he chuckled. “I promise to never tell Arya you said that.”

She glared at him. “I was a little distracted this morning.”

“So was I,” that simmer was back in his eyes, a promise held in the quirk of his lips, and she couldn’t wait until it became a raging boil, consuming them both.

“Ok, so Robb, Sansa, and Arya— and I’m going to assume Arya’s your favorite.” She tread delicately, not wanting to push much further, knowing there was at least one more brother no longer with them, and not wanting to lead them down a path of grief.

He snorted. “That’s puttin’ it mildly. She’s studyin’ in Braavos this year. We all miss her.” He glanced over at her and winked. “Well, maybe not Sansa.”

She laughed softly, enjoying the way his face lit up with the light ribbing. She flipped the sun visor back up and settled back into her seat, trying to figure out where they were going when his hand crept into her lap, threading his fingers through hers.

“You like seafood, right?”

She gave his hand a squeeze. “Yes.”

“Good.”

They rode in comfortable silence for awhile, both adjusting to the fact that they were truly alone, no Missandei with her endless tapping away on her phone, or Jorah with his well intentioned but overbearing presence. “I don’t get to sit in the front seat very often. This is quite novel.”

He grinned over at her. “I can think of a few advantages to the backseat, though.”

She had all she could do to keep her hands to herself, wanting to bank the fire roaring to life in them both, but also wanting to see where the evening led, what he had planned. “Well, when you don’t know how to drive, you don’t often get a choice.”

“You can’t drive?” His eyebrows were stuck somewhere near his hairline, and she couldn’t resist reaching over to smooth over them with her thumb.

“I’m a Targaryen, I don’t  _ drive _ , I am  _ driven _ .” The affected accent sounded too much like Viserys to her own ears and she grimaced, shoving thoughts of her brother as far away from her as she could. He wouldn’t ruin this evening for her, especially when he was so far away.

“Well, we’ll just have to do somethin’ about that, won’t we?” 

Another light promise, another plan for a future she desperately wanted to see. “Please.”

~*~*~

“We’re here.”

They’d been driving along the water for almost an hour  now, the bustle and heat of King’s Landing falling away as the coast beckoned them, and she couldn’t help but wish that they were in Essos, if only to see the sun set across the water instead of land, one of her favorite sights. Her resolve strengthened to find a way to get them across the Narrow Sea, to share with him the things and places she loved.

They seemed to be on a bluff, the “parking lot” they had pulled into nothing but gravel and leading up to what could only be defined as a large shack, weathered and grey, but sturdy. She reached for the door handle, only to be stopped by his hand on her arm. “Rules still apply tonight,” he said, his voice soft and serious. “Wait for me.”

It was too easy to fall into a sense of rightness and security when he was with her, and she fought off a shiver of apprehension at the reminder that while— for all intents and purposes— tonight was a night off, but she was still a woman hunted, on lockdown, and her very livelihood depended mostly on the man to her left.

Eyes wide, she nodded, gathering her jacket and clutch from the backseat, and folded her hands into her lap while he climbed out of the car. His dark eyes intently swept the horizon in every direction before he walked to the front door of the residence and propped it open. Finally, he crossed back to her, opening her door, and helped her to the ground, tucking her under his arm as he hurried her inside.

He closed the door behind them, the last of the summer sun streaming in through the windows and illuminating what appeared to be a somewhat shabby, but oddly charming restaurant. The decor was nautical in theme, tablecloths of navy blues and whites with anchors on the walls, and an illuminated bar to her right.

It was also completely empty.

She turned to Jon, a question on her lips and he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “I called in a favor.”

“Jon Fucking Snow, are you a sight for sore eyes!” A voice behind her had her spinning around, a grizzled older man with kind eyes and a beard more threaded with silver than any other color advancing on Jon, not even hesitating a moment to throw his arms around him, pounding him on the back in exuberance.

The man wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, but his energy seemed to swallow Jon immediately, his arms stiff at his side for only a moment before he gripped the man’s back, his fingers turning white for a moment as the hug lingered.

Finally, the older man leaned back, staring Jon full in the face, studying him with a fatherly scrutiny. “You look better, but still like shite.”

“Why does everyone insist on tellin’ me that lately?” Jon grumbled good naturedly.

Dany shrugged. “You look pretty normal to me.”

Both men turned to her, a small, perplexing smile creeping across Jon’s face as the other man studied her intently. “Daenerys Targaryen, this is Davos Seaworth. Davos, Dany.”

She held out her hand, chin held high under Davos’ inspection, his eyes serious as he studied her. He didn’t say anything for a moment before he turned back to Jon. “Good heart?”

The question hovered in the air between them, but Jon’s eyes shone with sincerity as he answered. “Aye.”

She felt herself go pink under their scrutiny, no idea what was happening until Davos winked at her and grabbed her up in a hug as well, nearly jerking her off her feet in his excitement. “He’s never brought a lady around before, so I figured you must be special when he called this afternoon.”

She glanced at Jon over Davos’ shoulder, still trapped in the man’s warm hug, finding she didn’t mind as his kind words registered. Jon’s neck was also pink, and she felt a swell of affection so deep that it momentarily made her forget where she was, or what she was doing. The only thing that mattered was Jon’s opinion of her, and it seemed to be higher than she had previously thought.

The feeling was mutual.

She untangled herself as gracefully as she could from Davos’ embrace. “Definitely more stubborn than he’s had to put up with in a while.”

“Good.” Davos nodded in approval, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as he led them to the bar, pulling the high chair back for her and leaving Jon to follow as he would. “What can I get you to drink?”

She climbed into the chair, and felt Jon’s hand come to rest on the back of her neck, his fingers finding the charm of her necklace and tracing the circle, sending a shiver of awareness down her spine. He took the chair next to her and turned to her with a teasing grin. “Rum?”

She flinched, a spike of residual pain behind her left eye sparking to life as she shook her head. “Gods, no.” Her horrified whisper had Jon laughing and Davos looking at her in confusion. She had to smile, charmed in spite of herself. “Maybe just a glass of Arbor Gold if you have it? I have a shoot tomorrow, and should really keep it to a minimum tonight.” She also had plans for the evening that  _ definitely _ required sobriety.

“Fair enough,” Davos ducked under the counter, shuffling around for a moment before standing back up with a bottle and a wine glass in hand. “Ale for you, lad?”

He poured her a healthy glass as Jon nodded, and he ducked down again to retrieve the light colored ale and a glass for Jon as well. “We’re pretty casual here tonight, as you can tell,” he waved to the empty space. “No menus, you eat whatever Marya and I come up with, depends on what the catch of the day is, so sit back and wait to be surprised. I’ll let Jon give you the gold dragon tour.”

He was gone before Dany could so much as blink, turning to Jon with wide eyes as he studied her sheepishly. “I know it’s not—“

She clapped her hand over his mouth before he could get any further, not willing to let him stew in doubt for one second longer than was necessary. “It’s perfect,” she said, his lips quirking up into a smile beneath her fingers. 

He gripped her wrist lightly, keeping her fingers trapped against his lips for a quick kiss before he threaded their fingers together and grabbed his drink. “Tour?”

She nodded, and allowed him to help her stand, her skirt riding dangerously high as she slid off the chair. She released his hand for a moment to pull her skirt back down, his eyes watching intently and she winked up at him. “A discovery for later,” she said as she reached for her wine glass and tapped his glass to hers before taking a sip.

He seemed a little confounded by her statement, the wheels in his mind turning, and she kept her glass at her lips to cover the little smile from spreading too thoroughly. “Tour?”

“Right, so—“ he turned and waved. “This is the dining room.”

She snorted, wondering a bit at the glimpses of this light-hearted version of a man that she was quickly growing to care for, enjoying every moment of playfulness and lightness he offered her, lapping it up like a love-starved kitten.

He took her hand again and walked toward the back of the restaurant, banging noises coming from what must be the kitchen, restrooms down the opposite end of the hall. He let them out a back door that led to a back porch overlooking the bay, the sunset already in full swing, painting the clouds in warm shades of pinks, golds, and oranges, the waves shining and beautiful. “And this is for us.”

There was a small table set up on the porch, a few candles flickering in the breeze, a single blue rose in a vase to go along with the nautical theme, two weathered chairs on either side. “Well, you are certainly full of surprises.”

He brought her hand to his lips, sweeping a kiss across her knuckles, and she couldn’t help but lean into him, pressing herself closer to his warmth as he wrapped an arm around her, still keeping his grip on her hand as he did so. “How long have you known Davos?” She snuggled a little bit deeper into his chest, his chin coming to rest on her head as they both cradled their still full glasses.

His chest swelled with the deep breath, her cheek rising and falling against it. “He used to be an attaché to Stannis Baratheon, he came north to the Wall during the peace talks. He was the one that found me after…”

She pulled back, searching his eyes to make sure he was saying what she thought he was, that familiar spark of pain spurring her onward, reaching for his glass and turning to place both on the table before she turned back and drew him into her embrace, eager to absorb all of his pain, to let him know how not alone and cherished he was— by his family, by Davos, by those he had saved. “I’m glad he did.”

There was a huff of air from above as Jon’s arms also closed around her. “Aye, me too.”

They stayed like that for a few moments, watching the clouds swirl and change color, neither quite ready to put words to fledgling feelings. “He’s retired now. Came home after the talks broke down, said it was time to get back to his family. Marya’s kept this place goin’ for years. It’s usually quiet, but I asked him to make sure it stayed that way for tonight.”

“I know, I know— advanced planning and all that,” she teased gently, nudging at his chin with her nose, his hands running freely down her bare back, callused fingers raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with the evening chill along her skin. She tilted her head back and he dropped a gentle kiss on her cheek, right where her bruise had been before she turned and captured his mouth with hers.

There was no rush, only slow, languid movements as their lips found each other, her hands sliding under his shirt to trail her own fingers lightly over the skin of his back, his holster hampering her from wandering too much, as he pulled her closer against him, his body firm and unyielding against her softer curves. His fingers played at the small of her back, light circles that were slowly winding her up, making her hungry for more than just food.

“All right, enough of that, this is a family establishment.” Davos’ voice broke through the slow banking fire, the embers of their mutual lust flaring to life in their eyes as she rolled her eyes at Jon and he laughed, placing one more firm kiss to her waiting lips before he pulled her chair out and she sat. Davos placed a steaming pile of food in front of them, the smell mouth-watering and delicious and her stomach gave a not so ladylike growl of approval.

“Just in the knick of time, I see,” Davos teased, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. “Eat up, don’t worry about cleaning up— Marya and I will take care of it tomorrow. Help yourselves to whatever you like, and Dany—“ he turned stern in a heartbeat. “We’re all trusting you with this lad. Don’t let us down.”

She pressed her lips into a firm line, returning Davos’ serious look with one of her own. “I promise.”

Davos took her hand, placing a kiss on the back of it before turning to Jon who stood to embrace the old man. “All right, you’ve properly embarrassed us both, now get out.”

“Listen how he talks to me,” Davos clucked his tongue at her, throwing her a conspiratorial wink. “Dany, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Next time you’ll have to stick around longer.” She grinned up at him, liking him immensely.

“Aye, _next_ _time_. Goodbye, Davos.”

“As you command.” Davos straightened to give them both a quick bow, an archaic gesture that he somehow made charming and lovely. “Jon, give us a call when you leave. We’ll come lock up.”

“Bye, Marya!” Jon called out as Davos left the porch, a faint  _ goodbye _ heard over the breeze off the bay. “She’s shy,” he explained as music suddenly started floating through the open doorway.

“Don’t mind us, just settin’ the mood.”

“I said ‘Goodbye, Davos’.” Jon’s grin was getting wider. “If we’re not careful they’ll stay to watch us eat and then ask if we want to babysit.”

Dany reached for her wine, taking a sip. “How many kids?”

“Seven,” he chuckled as her eyes widened. “All boys.”

They tucked into the food, some crab dish that Dany had no idea what it actually was, but was delicious, chatting about everything and nothing, watching the clouds change colors as the sun set behind them, the music tangling with the crashing of the waves beneath them.

His phone rang once, and he pulled it out, only to grimace and silence it immediately, tucking it back into his pocket. “You can take that if you need to,” she said.

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head. “No more interruptions.”

There was a heat building in his eyes, a streak of want pulsing through her, happy to know that he found the calls just as frustrating as she did. “Although, it occurs me that I don’t even have your number.”

She laughed. “Yes, you do. It’s Missandei’s number. I don’t have a cell, only the landline in my office.” She paused to take another sip of her wine. “Although, come to think of it, Missandei patches all the calls through to there too, so…”

“Well, we’ll have to do somethin’ about that too.” Her stomach swooped in response to yet another hint that he had plans for her that extended beyond this looming shadow, and she felt her heart stutter in her chest.

The music changed, something slow and sweet and she found herself standing, reaching a hand out to him. He took it, his thumb spreading over the fine bones of her knuckles. “Dance with me.”

It was whispered, and he seemed to recognize that it was a command, not a question, slowly pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. Hesitating only a moment, he drew her further out onto the porch, her free hand finding his shoulder, the strap of his shoulder holster rough against her fingertips, as she tucked herself into his side. His other arm swept around her back, his hand rubbing up and down her spine as she pressed herself closer, her temple along his cheek as she nuzzled at his neck.

She had a growing ache within her, an emptiness that only he would be able to fill and she lifted her eyes to meet his, to let him see all of her. “This has been lovely. Thank you.”

She captured his protest before he could utter it, her hand sweeping up his neck and into the curls at the nape of it as she pressed her lips to his for the gods only knew how many times tonight. She felt his tongue teasing at her lips and she opened her mouth to him, breathing him deep, the taste of his ale nutty on his tongue. His hand at the small of her back pressed her hips into his, allowing her to feel his half hard length beneath her, the resounding pulse of desire nearly causing her knees to buckle at the sensation, and she let go of his hand to wrap her arms around his neck, drinking in all that he had to offer.

One hand went to her ass, cupping it all too briefly before both hands swept up her back, creeping under the fabric of her dress, his talented fingers trailing lightly along the skin at her side, sweeping close and closer to suddenly aching breasts. She very much regretted wearing a high-necked dress, knowing he would never be able to properly get through the fabric to give her the attention she so desperately wanted.

His hands were gentle, his fingers finding the slight swell of the side of her breast even though the hold around her back was awkward. She was fully alight now, the memory of his hands on her from that horrific night blinding her to the rest, awash in sensation as his lips left hers, and roughly went for her neck, a dizzying juxtaposition to the soft touches of his fingers. Her nipples were hard and aching, and she wished he would just take her now, right here under the open sky.

Her breathing was becoming more and more ragged, his teeth nipping at her earlobe now, and she snapped back, hooking a leg over his hip to draw him closer, to relieve the ache that was gathering in her cunt, both of her hands on his face as she drew his head up to attack those talented lips again, the kiss rapidly turning messy and hungry, oh so very hungry.

He drew back with a gasp, both of them heaving for breath, and his forehead came to rest against her own, his hands cupping her face, thumbs tilting her jaw up towards him once more.

“Ready to get out of here?”

“Gods, yes, Jon.”

~*~*~

He couldn’t stop touching her. 

It was a necessity now that she had given her tacit permission, smaller hand in his, fingers laced together to give him access to brush his lips over her knuckles, scrape the soft skin against his beard, listen to her little quiet sighs with each touch, her small smiles settling in his chest warmly.

“Why are we driving down The Street Of Steel?” There was a curiosity in her voice as she peered at the old buildings of the manufacturing area, smokestacks still rising into the skyline. 

“It’s our next stop.” Squeezing her fingers, he turned back to looking at where they were going, his secrecy due more to nerves than anything else. She might hate the idea, once she figured it out, and he would have then successfully ruined what was so far an amazing night. But it was an idea he’d had from the beginning, now certainly as good a time as any. 

“I assumed our next stop would be the manse.” 

The velvet of her voice settled over his skin, his cock twitching in the tight jeans, more than tired of him dragging it all out. Every one of her kisses had burned through him, arousal building, the soft feel of her skin in his hands as he handled her, learning what he could on the outside of that dress, how her curves fit right into his grip.

“We’ll be gettin’ there soon, I promise.” Gods, the thought of what he wanted to do to her back in the safety of his borrowed bed made him drag in a rough breath, knuckles on the steering wheel tightening, her own inhale further proof that she was as ready as him. “I just want to do this first. I don’t think you’ll hate it.”

The building he was looking for loomed into sight and he turned into the driveway with a crunch of gravel, her easy laugh making him smile even as she peered at the weathered sign that just said ‘Mott’s Smithing’, before arching one of her brows at him.

“You are keeping quite the mystery, my good Ser.”

Finally in a parking spot, he turned off the SUV, the low tingle of need making him unbuckle his seatbelt quickly, leaning over the console to slide his fingers into her mass of hair, a thrill running through him as she met him halfway, lips already parted to allow his tongue access, not sure if the moan was his or hers with the first soft glide.

It was the type of kiss that he felt down to his toes, deep and thorough, his senses filling with the taste and feel of her as her mouth moved encouragingly, her fingers grabbing into his shirt until he was pulling at her, growling in frustration as she was held steady in her seat by her still buckled seatbelt.

“Fuck.” Pulling away from those plush lips, he squeezed his eyes shut, forehead lingering against hers as he caught his breath, palm curling around the back of her neck, his thumb landing on her wild pulse, feeling her blood race for him. “We  _ are _ doing this.” He made himself pull away. “C’mon.”

A quick scan around the parking lot confirmed what he already knew, that they were alone, no unease crawling up his spine as he took the duffel from the back seat before moving around the vehicle, Daenerys ready and waiting as he opened the door for her. Those ridiculous heels hit the ground, the rocks shifting under her feet as she moved into his side, warm and soft and he wanted to keep her tucked there always.

He let go of her reluctantly as he opened the door, a loud buzzer announcing their presence and he ushered her forward with his hand on her bare back, fingers sliding before settling, the shiver running through her causing a flash of heat in him. 

“You brought me to a gun store?” 

She was looking around the store front, intrigue written on her pretty face and he knew she still didn't understand, his thumb skimming under the fabric of her dress for just a moment to torture them both. “Indoor shooting range.”

Stepping forward again, it was difficult to keep it no more than that light touch as they approached the counter, already getting more and more accustomed to having her pressed up against him in one way or the other, but he maintained his distance, giving a small nod to the younger man behind the counter. “Gendry.”

“Jon, you made it.”

“Aye thanks for doing this.” He held out his hand, a thrill running through him as Dany stepped to his side, well into his person space. “Gendry Waters, this is Daenerys Targaryen. Dany, Gendry.”

“Nice to meet you.” Gendry was looking at her with curiosity, taking in the familiarity at how they stood. “Happy to help out. Just leave me a list of what you take and we’ll settle up later.”

“He has to say that, he’s dating my sister.” That look went across her face, the one she got any time she was given a piece of information about him and his heart gave a quick stuttered beat, filling him with an awe that she would be so interested in who he was.

“Well, thank the gods for connections.”

Her smile was so brilliant he felt at a loss for air, distracting himself by reaching over and pressing the button that turned off the security cameras. “I’ll turn them back on before I leave.”

“You’ve got it.” Gendry set his requested items on the counter and stood. “You remember the alarm code?” It was nice to meet you, Daenerys.”

“You too.”

“I’ve got it.” He scooped up a pair of safety glasses. “Tell Arya that I said to mind her own business.”

Gendry laughed as he disappeared down the hall toward the back door and Jon gave himself to the count of ten after it clicked shut behind Gendry before turning and hooking under Dany’s elbows, bringing them together as he closed his mouth over her bottom lip, her fingers digging into his sides as her tongue flicked along his lip. He gave and she took, losing himself in the soft feel of her mouth, the urgent movements, desire pooling in his veins along with the deep felt affection, something  _ more _ at the fact she was standing right there and trusting him.

She made a humming noise as he pulled away, her eyes blinking slowly open as she leaned into his chest, surely close enough to hear the beating of his heart. “Now that you’ve got me here, what are you going to do with me?”

A thousand scenarios flashed through his mind, all of them involving a lot less clothing but something else was there also, the need to show her how to defend herself, give her more power in the uneven game she was stuck in. “I’m going to teach you to be the best gunslinger in Westeros.”

There was a bit of hesitation on her face, the harsh reality of what was currently her world encroaching on the bubble they had effectively put themself in, but it bubbled uneasily under his skin, relentless and nagging. “If you own it, you need to know how to use it.” He tucked a stray tendril behind her ear, savoring the silky feel of it, how her eyes closed for just a moment. “Humor me, please.”

“Since you asked so nicely.” He jolted as she reached around to squeeze his arse. “Okay, now I’m ready.”

He felt light, almost giddy as he shook his head at her antics, amused by her winking at him as he scooped up the items, ushered them back through the doors and under the harsh fluorescent lights, the lingering smell of gunpowder and oil in the air, familiar and comforting. “Pick a spot, Dany. Doesn’t matter which one.”

There were targets already waiting on the narrow counter of the shooting stall, Jon depositing all the supplies there, then setting down the little case holding her gun, laying everything out carefully. 

“I’m going to show you how to load first, then we will work on actually shooting.” She was chewing on her lip and he paused for a moment from his routine, a finger tipping her head up enough to give a chaste kiss on the mouth to distract her and just simply because he could. 

With her silent nod, he turned back into the soldier, the teacher, calmly explaining, showing by example as he helped her load her magazine, had her do the same by herself for the spare. She was a quick study even if not completely comfortable with her actions and he paused for a moment to squeeze her hand, grateful for her willingness to try. “Thank you for being a good sport about this.”

“I should know how to handle it if I have it, you’re right about that.” She took a deep breath, shoulders squaring back, a little flare of pride running through him. “So, teach me, Jon.”

Pushing the button he sent the target out, putting on his ear protection and she did the same, easily pulling out his gun that was always ready, taking careful aim and pulling the trigger enough times that he hoped she would take even more comfort in him being at her back when he brought in the results.

“You're good.” She was tense, shoulders stiff as the target stopped in front of them.

“Aye.” He reloaded, letting her nervously poke at the holes, three in the head, six dead center. “Good thing or I’d be in the wrong line of work.”

Her nose crinkled at him and he holstered his gun then cupped the back of her neck, getting close enough to press a kiss to her temple. It was unfair of him to ask this of her, but what was happening was even worse, and his need to keep her safe, with or without him, was more of a concern than pushing at her comfort zone.

“Your turn.” He made room for her, brought her in close and showed her the proper way to hand over a firearm, where the safety was located, how to take it off and put it back on, his senses tingling with the light smell of her perfume, the heat coming off her skin. He wanted to press his lips to that spot right behind her ear. 

“Angle yourself like this.” He grabbed her hips and moved her, body wonderfully pliant against his handling, causing him to try and push the lust away to focus on what they were doing. “Feet like this for balance.” Using his thighs, he helped position her, shooting foot slightly back, enough distance to keep her centered, her balance remarkable for her choice of footwear.

“Now—“ he skimmed his hands down her arms, felt her shiver and tried to ignore the electricity between them. “This arm straight, this arm slightly bent. Wrists firm but not locked in place. You need to absorb the recoil.”

“Recoil?” She looked up and over his shoulder at him, brow wrinkled and he just wanted to scoop her up and take her home where she’d be safe, hunt through the streets of King’s Landing until the person threatening her life was rooted out and taken care of.

“All that energy has to go somewhere.” His hands kept traveling, unable to stop even though it was distracting them both, fingers curling around her wrists. “You’ll get a kick with bigger guns, you need to keep control but not hurt yourself.”

“Do you think I’m breakable?”

Reaching around her and her sad eyes, he sent the target out, making sure their gazes were locked as he did. “You are Valyrian Steel, Daenerys.” His voice came out a little rougher than planned, sincerity making it catch in his throat, and he turned back to their lesson to try and ignore how deeply he was affected. “Now, you are going to aim for center mass. Point it.” He stepped back. “You have good hand and eye coordination so I’m not worried about precision, that will come with practice.” 

“Just pull the trigger?”

“Squeeze it. Gently.”

She flinched, a hard pull and her face turned down, the shot off its mark and he stepped back into her, hands settling on her hips to distract for a moment. 

“Relax. That didn’t hurt, right?” The smell of her shampoo drifted toward him and he gave himself the moment to press his lips to the crown of her head as she murmured her answer, reassured that she wasn’t going to stop after one try. “You yanked, which is normal. Go easy with it. Pretend it’s breakable.”

Daenerys Targaryen was nothing if not stubbornly persistent and gods be good, it was such a cliche, but it was something he liked most about her, that someone who grew up in the shadows of a family determined to make less of her, could be so absolutely tenacious when she needed to be. Which was probably why she was standing in front of him now, the determined set to her chin advising him they would not be leaving until she conquered this particular obstacle.

He fell himself fall a little farther down the hole of emotions he was currently in. “If you’re ready, try again.” The second shot wasn’t great, but much better than the first and he felt that same pride again, fingers rubbing together to keep from touching her. “Again.”

Moving back even farther, he let her concentrate, giving gentle corrections when she needed it, watching her confidence grow and bloom every time she pulled the trigger.

“How does it feel?”

She’d emptied three magazines, nowhere near an expert, but hopefully enough not to flinch, to save her own life if needed. Carefully she switched on the safety, set her gun down and he crowded back in, the thrill of being so close making him reach out and run his fingers up her spine.

“Good, it feels good.” Hearing protection pulled off, she pushed up her safety glasses, waited for him to do the same. “But this is easy, it’s just a piece of paper, not a living, breathing person looking at me.”

The sharp taste of regret was in his mouth, the pain in her eyes searing into his insides as he pulled her into him, let her bury her face in his chest. “I know and it’s really fuckin’ unfair that you are learning this. But, hey—“ he leaned back enough until she looked up at him, fingers playing with a strand of her hair, unable to keep his hands to himself, needing the contact. “If you do this to save yourself, it’s not on you, it’s on them. They made the choice and put themselves in this position. You are just trying to stay alive.”

There was a vulnerability in her eyes, the struggle of getting her mind to a place where she would accept the ending of a life for her own and he cupped her face, forehead touching hers as her lashes fluttered. “Besides, they’ll have to come through me to get to you and I don’t plan on letting that happen. You are coming out of this.”

A noise left her throat, a quick warning before she was up on her toes and he was ready for the messy clash of their mouths, desperation flooding his mind as his senses filled with her, the smooth slick of her tongue against his, sharp nails making to under his shirt, the urgency in which she pushed him back until he was against the partition, letting her take what she needed.

There was a demand in the wet slide of her mouth, one that he felt throughout, his body responding to it because they were finally  _ there,  _ no looking back or stopping now and his hands slid down to finally grasp handfuls of her round arse, the clingy fabric stretching under his grip as teeth set firmly into his bottom lip.

It was a little desperate, unhinged, frantic movements to consume, to finally  _ take _ what they both wanted so very badly. Her hands were under his shirt, pushing up his back with sharp nails, a hand on her lower back pulling her against him, letting her feel how badly she was needed, fingers diving below the edge of fabric, material straining against the invasion, dipping lower to look for another barrier, a digit sliding between the plump cheeks of her arse.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered what that meant, tenacious grasp slipping, letting go of her bottom lip to look at her sly face, blue eyes clouded with lust, pretty mouth kiss swollen. “Dany?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to make that discovery all night.”

A sharp bite to his lip drove him forward again, messy, hurried, needing to touch more, to taste  _ more  _ and he moved her backwards, the arm around his neck keeping her upright as he grabbed and squeezed, her sharp exhale as she hit the counter behind her making him pause.

But only for a moment, and then he picked her up, dropping her on the flat surface, shoving flyers and whatever else out of the way as she opened her thighs, grabbing the straps of his holster and pulling him in right where he was all too willing to go, to be so close to the heat of her. Something inside him starting to boil over, hands sliding up smooth skin as she shimmied her hips to help, the skin of her neck welcoming as he mouthed and licked.

Finally her dress was hiked indecently, fingers finding hip bones as he nipped under her jaw, frustrated that sparkly barrier of material across her chest denied him access to her tits and thumbed at the crease of her thighs until he was met with a wet heat, the air in his lungs stalling.

She was soaked as he pulled his head away to look at her, arousal glistening at her seam, stripped bare and welcoming, her head rolling back as he swiped at her center, parting her easily, his own want making him shaky, an edge set to his need that made him want to take roughly and hear her cry out, to worship slowly and have her melt against him. Fingers brushed over her again, a light flickering touch over her clit that had her hips jumping, her low moan pushing him to action.

With a sharp pull she was at the end of the counter, his mouth against the soft skin of her inner thigh, a whimper and fingers in his hair giving him permission to close in, inhale the smell of her, the sudden rush he’d felt slowing down to lick the evidence of her want off of her thighs, hands holding onto her buttocks to keep her wide and she clumsily looped her legs over his back.

The square edge of her heels were digging in, her whispers of his name falling into his ears, mixing with the sound of his pulse, pausing for a second to savor the moment— finally,  _ finally,  _ a hair's breadth away from her cunt, swollen and ripe. His tongue finally swiped as he looked up, her sharp cry ending as he did it again, hair tugged as she anchored herself and him, the sweet tang of her filling his mouth, making him starving for more. 

He kept her spread apart, consuming in big wolfish bites, feeding off her noises of pleasure, his tongue coated with her juices, thighs going shaky around him as he bumped her clit, did it again for her reaction, wanting so badly to be inside of her, wanting this first, catching that nub to suck lightly.

She almost came off the counter, his name falling in the same rhythm he was using to drive her crazy, fingers seeking out that wet and hot channel, two disappearing inside of her, and he did his best to listen over her cries, his own heartbeat, for that change in pitch, wanting to hear it so badly, wanting her to fall apart for him, tongue making flat sweeps to the most sensitive part of her.

“ _ Oh, gods, Jon!” _

There was a greedy part of him that wanted her around his cock, the other part happy to be buried mouth first between her thighs and he concentrated on that part, fingers still moving with a wet squelch, rubbing when her hips jumped, her body curling towards him, his own body on fire with need. He suckled gently at her again, ready as she broke, shuddering and shaking, fingers tight in his hair as he moaned through the mouthful of her, lapping at the evidence of her orgasm as she strained and then relaxed.

Lazily, he licked at her again, strangely satisfied for a man whose cock was hard and aching, scraping his wet face on the white skin of her thigh, feeling her twitch with his movement, a little whine pulling his gaze away from her flushed center, to her face, still coming down from pleasure, gorgeous and wrecked and the flood of different emotions almost drowned him on the spot.

And what a fucking way to go he realized, straightening up to catch her chin, watch those shiny eyes focus before she grabbed his shirt and yanked him forward into a hard kiss, teeth rattling together before they found their rhythm again. Jon pulled her closer just to feel the heat of her against him, savoring it and how she clung to him, leaning into his embrace, sure that he wouldn’t let go over her.

Within his haze he felt the fingers crawling up his sides, under his shirt, worn heart kicking up a notch, a blaze being left in her wake as she tugged, exposing more skin and he was ready to help her, a desire to let her have her way with him.

Except he didn’t want to have her in a frantic, half dressed encounter on the back counter of a shooting range...

“Hey.” He caught her wrists as nimble fingers grasped at the button of his jeans and he kissed each palm before diving back in to press a quick kiss on her pretty, pouting mouth, a small pang as he stopped them. “Let’s go back to the manse.” 

“Jon.” Her voice was sultry, sex dripping like honey, and his cock was straining desperately against its confines. “Let’s finish what we started first.”

Fuck, she was making it difficult and he wanted nothing more than to put an end to the dance they had begun all those weeks ago.

“I don’t have a condom with me.” He kissed her again, wanting to make sure she  _ knew  _ she was wanted.

“I’m on birth control, so that’s not a problem.”

_ That _ hit him like a ton of bricks— her absolute trust in him— and he carefully pulled her forward, ignoring her frown as her feet hit the floor, cradling her face in his palms and hoped he wasn’t fucking this up. “Dany, please, let me take you back to the manse and to bed. I don’t want to do this here. I do, but I want to do this right even more.”

Her kiss was gentle, not like the frenzied motions they had been before and something in his chest settled, filled, while his blood roared for her, his hands slipping into the back of her dress, finding a hip to squeeze before helping to pull her skirt down over her arse once more.

When they parted, he left his eyes closed, basking in sensations and he could feel her smile against his lips, still taste her in his mouth.

“Since you were kind enough to give me an orgasm first, I’ll let you have your way.. this time.”

There was something close to giddy welling up inside him— she was slowly pulling forth the lightness he had forgotten resided there, behind the scars and the hurt. Dragging his fingers up her back, he took the time to drop another soft kiss to her awaiting mouth, ready to stay just like that forever. “Mmmm, into the bartering system, are ya?”

Her fingers stroked down his face, dancing at the edge of his jawline. “This is a new development for me. But I can see the benefits.”

An easy chuckle left him, hands molding over her arse, just because he could and he couldn’t seem to find an ounce of the cold in his chest, her fire melting it all away. “Come on, let’s go.”

It was an enthusiastic agreement and they reluctantly parted, Jon still torn between finishing this off with her thighs around him, right there on that counter and taking her back to the manse, spending the deserved time going over her. But, he made himself pack up their supplies, the lingering smell of gunpowder mixing with the smell of Daenerys, heady and making him need to adjust himself in his jeans, brushing off her raised eyebrows. 

“We can do something about that.”

Her purr didn’t help and he gritted his teeth, stopping at the front counter long enough to switch back on the security cameras. “Let’s not create a scandal.”

“Gods, Tyrion would be furious.” 

Stopping just before the door, he put himself in front of her, the brief thought of all the hellfire that would have been rained down upon them if him feasting from between her thighs were to hit the tabloids. “I’d probably be sent back to the Wall.” Giving her a wink, he punched in the alarm code. “But you’d be worth it.”

The dazzle of her smile almost blinded him as he shut the door behind them, locking away that moment of them to keep forever and he moved them back out to the SUV, tucking her safely inside before rushing to his side, trying to rein himself in just a bit. Back out here, she was a target and he couldn’t forget it.

She was leaned back against the seat as he put them in drive, checking his mirrors, all around them as they left the parking lot, another glance showing her blinking slowly, still mussed and bright, and something inside of him swelled with pride at putting that look on her face.

“You’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you?” Stopped at the red light, he turned his head towards her, reaching out to run a thumb over her bottom lip.

A quick hand caught his own, sharp teeth setting into his fingerprint and he flashed over with want, a sharp look coming into her eyes, a warning that she had been pushed to the edge, and there would be nothing sweet and slow between them yet. “I have beard burn between my thighs.” Her legs shifted, drawing together. “How long do you think it lasts?”

Air was difficult to find, the light turning green and he had to force himself away from the fire in her eyes to drive, to get them back to the manse before he pulled over and let her climb on top of him. “I don’t plan on letting it go away.”

This time it was she who cursed, fingers landing on his thigh, cock twitching and then straining as she moved towards it, warm lips finding his neck as they hit another red light and he caught her chin, turning back towards her, fingers threading through all the silver to anchor himself as she met him halfway, mouth already open, tongue eagerly sliding against his.

A horn behind them had him jolting, eyes jerking back open and he tried to focus again on the road, ignore the urgency in his veins, needs bubbling like a volcano as her chuckle hit his ears, nose nuzzling against his jaw as her fingers danced and teased, cock still reminding him that he remained unsatisfied, the brush of her knuckles across the bulge in his jeans making him hiss. “You plannin’ on torturing me the whole ride?”

“That’s your fault.” Warm lips found his neck as he hit the first streetlight. “You insisted on waiting.”

He lightly jolted with teeth sinking into his skin. “Dany…..” 

Pressure from her hand increased as did the sound of his heartbeat, everything becoming a little slow around him as he turned his chin, seeing the mischievous glint in the depths of blue, the sound of a zipper making him inhale, breath stalling out as his eyes landed back on the road.

“Fuck.” His voice broke, mind starting to lose it’s sharp edge. “What are you doing?”

A warm hand wrapped around his cock, a nose brushing his cheek as he tried to concentrate on the white lines, a silky stroke making him bite his tongue to focus.

“I don’t think you need to wait any longer.”

Whatever protest he had was lost as she shifted against the restraint of her seatbelt, words staying stuck in his throat as she freed him from the confines of fabric, cool air hitting him before her warm breath, grip tightening down on the steering wheel, the brief realization that they were so far away from what he had originally planned, right before her sweet mouth closed over the head of his cock.

There was a quick moment where he thought he might wreck the SUV, a hum vibrating around the sensitive flesh as she sucked him down, holding him in wet heat, his hips jerking in response, a hand landing on her neck, fingers tangling in her necklace to steady himself.

All he wanted to do was stop and give her better access, the wonderful pull of her mouth was irresistible and he couldn’t figure out why he had originally told her to wait, a broken groan leaving him as he managed to turn down the correct street, bumping her head with the steering wheel.

“ _ Gods… fuck..” _

She came up for air and he almost whimpered, even with her hand replacing her mouth, lips shiny with spit and swollen and heat prickled all over his skin in a rush, the knot inside him growing in size as he blinked rapidly, trying to keep his eyes open.

“Where are we?”

It took him a second to decipher her words, her hand squeezing as she continued her motions, teeth tugging on his earlobe. “About a block away.”

“Are we going to get caught with me sucking your cock by whoever is on security?”

It was a command for him that he was unable to ignore, a rush of air expelled as she dropped back down, cheeks hollowing as he hit the back of her throat, all control now in her dainty hands as fingers tangled in her hair, the lights of the manse coming up, her rhythm perfect, destroying him in the best way possible, slurping sounds making it hard to breathe and he slowed down, turn signal on, blinking against oncoming headlights before turning off the street.

With a low curse, in the safety of the driveway, he threw the SUV in park, hitting the lever to move the steering wheel up, out of her way, something rough leaving his chest as she didn’t falter, a hand carefully squeezing into the little space allowed, cupping his balls, thumb adding pressure as she dove back down and held his cock there, trapped, and then he was lost.

It rolled over him in waves, a buzzing in his ears, everything black behind closed eyelids, her lips staying sealed around his cock as his release flooded her mouth, a hand cupping the back of her neck in encouragement.

She didn’t need it, moaning in appreciation as she took it all before pulling off with a smug look just as he managed to open his eyes, gulping in air as quickly as he could get it, tongue glued firmly to the roof of his mouth.

“ _ Fuck.” _ He finally managed, completely useless as she settled back in her seat, wiping the corner of her mouth before trying to fix her hair.

“That’s the plan.” The heat in her eyes burned into him. “If I could get you to drive.”

He shook his head, trying to gather himself back together as he shifted with a wince, adjusting himself to zip back up his jeans, wondered if the fact he’d just gotten the best blowjob in his life was written all over his face— or that he was just minutes away from hearing what Daenerys Targaryen sounded like with his cock buried inside of her.

“I’m driving.” To prove his point, he shifted back into gear, grabbing her hand to kiss her knuckles, then wrist, her soft sigh tingling inside of him. “Do you always get what you want?”

“I’m nothing if not persistent.”

Fuck, he didn't have to be told that twice, much more than lust enveloping him and he dropped their hands down out of sight, not quite ready to let go of her as they pulled up to the gate and confirmed that it was indeed them, before the gate swung open to let them enter.

A tingling of nerves settled over him in the silence as he parked, grabbed her gun case from the backseat as she gathered her clutch and jacket, and it was ridiculous considering what had just transpired between them, his hand clenching and releasing just before he opened her door, the harsh floodlights unable to dampen her beauty, suddenly feeling out of his depth with that look on her face as he offered out his hand.

She took it, palm still a little damp and his stomach clenched with remembered pleasure and he vowed to himself that he would return it all back to her, wanted her to think of nothing but him.

Resisting the urge to kiss her, he let them into the manse, ever the professional except for the hand drawn to the small of her back, thumb casually stroking the bared skin, looking forward to the moment when he’d get to see all of it, as he ushered her down the halls, counting his steps as they moved from camera to camera, until he was unable to resist, grabbing her around the waist to press her against a closed door.

Her words of confusion were stopped by his mouth, tongue finding hers, tilting her chin how he needed it, taking and giving until the world spun and he slowly pulled back, straightening them both up and hands back to appropriate placement, and moved her down the hall quickly, keeping her steady on her feet despite his own dizziness.

“Cameras?” Her voice was shaky, lips shiny and swollen and he almost stopped them again.

“Blind spot.” They were getting closer to their rooms, his heart pounding wildly, almost,  _ almost _ there and then he’d fucking finally be able to put his hands all over her, satisfy his cravings and hopefully hers as well.

“Hurry, Jon.”

He did, making it to her door and leaving her against the wall, doing a quick sweep, setting down the case before stepping back into view and motioning to let her know it was clear.

She didn’t waste any time, pushing herself off the wall in a hurry, anticipation rolling through him as she flung herself, a perfect fit in his arms, already hungry for her again as she took his mouth with an intensity that disarmed him, her hands frantically pulled at his shirt, fingers dipping inside the back of her dress, sliding down to grab a handful of arse, yank her tighter against him.

Somewhere in the back of his quickly shutting down mind, a detail was there, getting further and further away with every suck and bite, his shirt being half discarded before he finally grasped what he needed to do, catching her hands and stepping away.

“Wait.” He was panting and they still had their clothes on. “I’ve got to—“ he motioned towards his room, waiting for the look of understanding before letting go, another step towards the door.

When she nodded at him, he turned, trying to not seem as he was racing as he let himself into his own room, locking to door behind him and tripped, his pulse encouraging him to  _ hurry,  _ toeing off his boots, setting his gun on the dresser, as he yanked open the door between their rooms, Daenerys standing just on the other side.

_ Fuck,  _ she was the best thing he’d ever seen and he could hardly believe this was getting ready to happen, that somehow he had ended up right  _ here _ and he was too much a coward to look deeper, figure out a name for it, and instead concentrated on the blistering heat he could feel between them, his hands ready to grab.

But he didn’t. He held his ground, needing her to be the final one to cross that line, let her make the decision on her own, even if it was the natural conclusion to what they had started.

Stil, when she came through that door, his heart almost stopped, finally reaching out to catch her, crashing them together in that tangle of lust, mouths slanting and seeking with need, the shoulder holster being pushed off his shoulders and he paused her a moment, letting her chase his mouth, pulled his shirt over his head to give her access to more skin.

Her hands hit his chest with her nails out, a delightful scratch that awakened nerve endings he thought dead, her tongue finding the hollow of his throat, his own hand doing an awkward fumble to get behind that godsdamned dress, finally getting to cup one of those lovely little round tits, thumb flicking over a nipple that pebbled under his attention and he needed  _ more. _

“How do I get this off of you?”

Those blue eyes were dark when they looked at him, all his blood descending south rapidly and she turned away from where she had been nipping across his clavicle, leaving marks that he’d wear proudly, to offer him the view off her neck and back, motioning to the snap there, one small flimsy piece keeping him away from all the skin he wanted to taste, to see, and with impatience goading him forward his fingers found where to unclasp, her breath catching as his palm swept up her spine. 

The dress fell away from her chest and he closed in, the soft smell of her invading his nose as his hands slid around her belly, up, groaning as he placed a kiss behind her ear, then lower, moving towards her shoulders as he palmed her tits, the weight making him close his eyes, the taste of pale flesh making him an addict. 

Her own groan floated back to him, her head lolling back towards him as he gave her a well placed bite at the back of her neck, kneading and squeezing, listening to her whimper when he pinched her nipples, drawing them out, feeling her squirm against him, a hand sliding down the slope of her belly, down further under that dress to cup her, feel the heat at her center, the pool of wet in his palm.

_ “Dany….” _ He nosed behind her ear, pinching the hardened tip at the same time a finger parted her wet folds, her weight sagging into him as she let out a rough moan. “You’re soaked, again. Didn't you get enough before?”

“No.” She managed to turn in his arms, fingers pulling at his waistband. “Pants off now.”

It was a request he was all to willing to comply, shucking them quickly as she shimmied out of her dress, before stepping back into her, groaning with the feel of nipples catching on his scars, sparks igniting, fingers cupping the back of her neck, tangling in her hair, thumb on her rapid pulse to kiss her again and again until the feeling of fingernails in his arse reminded him they had other things to do.

Scooping her up, he spun them to the bed where he lay her down, covering her body with his own, finally, letting his weight bear her into the mattress, heat and flesh meeting, hungry as he tasted, suckled at pulled at her breast, the fingers in his hair finally pulling it loose to fall against the pale of her skin, dark meeting light and  _ gods _ he was ready for more, rolling them over until she was straddling him.

He was struck dumb for a moment, staring from where he rested against the pillows, hands finding the perfect spot at the generous curve of her hip and he could feel the anticipation heavy in the air, surrounding them as she braced herself with a hand on his abdomen, his eyelids fluttering as she fisted his cock and lined them up, rubbing him through the abundant wet before the warmth enveloped him, hot and tight and stars appeared before him or maybe it was the silver curtain of her hair as she keened and struggled down.

Finally she was flush against him, his heart beating loudly from underneath her palm as she traced the edges of a jagged scar, struggling to keep control of himself, fighting the urge to flip them and dominate, to fuck her until she was screaming his name.

She gave a testing roll to her hips, cock sliding in that tight heat and he reached behind him, grabbing a hold of the headboard, groaning as she did it again, teasing as she bit her lip. 

“Fuck,  _ Dany _ .”

That seemed to spur her forward, getting a little more tangled up in her magic as her body took him, over and over again, her hand over his heart as she canted her hips and rode, his breath coming back in stuttering gasps, eyes open to watch her, wild and unrefined, beautiful as she enjoyed him.

It was beginning to be too much, the heat, the grip around his cock, his own throat giving away his pleasure, letting go to reach for her again, a hand trailing up her spine, the other wrapping in hair hanging between them as she tipped enough to kiss him, a hard bite of need, his own demands made, her whimper caught in his mouth, the feel of her knuckles dragging down his abdomen before fitting between them, her hips faltering.

He pulled away from her lips regretfully, sensation centered on the pulsing of her cunt as she climbed higher, his eyes glued to where they were joined, cock being swallowed with her every downward thrust and greedily he grabbed her hips helping aid her movements with hard pulls, the sound of flesh ringing in his ears, the fire climbing steadily over him as she broke, battering herself over and over until she was boneless, glorious in her ruin, the flames fully engulfing him and he growled her name, his release being absorbed by her, hips bucking hard into where he held her still, her little groans prolonging him as she shuddered into the safety of his chest.

Finally he was spent, body slick with sweat and mingled fluids from under her, the soft sweet form crashing against him, pink with flush, her nose bumping along his jaw as he recovered from being blind and deaf, petting slowly down her back, little purrs settling somewhere around his heart, his satisfaction only partially due to his release and more that it was  _ her _ , naked and on top of him.

“Jon.” She arched, making him wince, her mouth pouting and perfect and magic, his thumb catching that bottom lip for a moment before letting her have it back.

“Dany.” 

Her eyelashes fluttered at her name, her hands cupping his face before she gave him a lingering kiss that made him sit the rest of the way up, body heat ignored in favor of closeness. 

He could feel it shifting inside him, that big, momentous emotion he didn’t have a name for, but something that made him want to grab her and hold on tight, fingers splaying across her back in substitution as she collapsed back into him with a hum, his lips finding the top of her head to press a kiss there, savoring all of it.

For most of his life he had tried to protect himself, keep himself and not allowing anything too deep, self preservation at its finest. But he couldn’t find a trace of that reflex, limbs and emotions all tangled up with her, the urge to welcome it, embrace it, the only instincts he could find.

When she lifted her head up with a content little sigh, met his mouth with a soft gentle kiss, he was ready.

~*~*~

_ ñuha prūmia _ \- my heart

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, roadhead is a colossally terrible idea. Park that shit and then go to town. (This has been a sexual health message from your Aunties Meg and Mel. Use condoms, bye.)


	8. Oh, I lose control, can't seem to get enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settling in next to the door where Grey and Dei stood, he leaned against the wall to cross his arms, took note of the few startled glances he received. “How’s it been? Quiet?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Nothing suspicious.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Good.” Impatient, he checked his watch before adjusting it, ready for this to be over before it even started, knowing they had free time after they were done and wondered what he could talk her into, catching Grey give Dei’s hand a quick squeeze before he left.
> 
>  
> 
> “You still don’t know what this is about?” Dei’s pretty face was sly as she looked at her phone, no doubt fielding emails and other info for Dany.
> 
>  
> 
> “No.” He refrained from rolling his eyes, barely. “And everyone seems to be getting great amusement out of it.”
> 
>  
> 
> “We are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you wonderful readers for hanging in there with this fiasco that was thrown upon us. Season 8? I don’t know her. _I hope D &D get fucked by a cactus (and Miguel and Cogman and probably GRRM- I’m not sure who I left out, but I’ll edit as needed)_
> 
>  
> 
> Don’t worry, Meg and I aren’t going anywhere. These two deserve all the happy and they’ll get it from us..
> 
> I’ll keep this short and let you get to the smut. 
> 
> As always, Alice, darling, thank you for reading these monster chapters and doing it with delight. 
> 
> And JW for lending moodboard magic. You’ve outdone yourself with this one ❤️
> 
> All my love to my co-writer Meg. Let us do what they couldn’t.

 

  


 

**Chapter 8**

_Oh, I lose control, can't seem to get enough_

 

~*~*~

 

Jon woke her again in the early light of dawn, feather light touches against her nippples pulling her from dreams that tasted of rum and sweetness, and back into the reality of _him._ The musky smell of them floated on the stale waves of the air conditioning— the cool air unable to compete with their heat.

 

They had taken turns waking each other during the night, need a rolling wave that had taken each of them, neither able to release the other now that the last of their physical barriers had been shattered. Under the shield of darkness she had finally been able to map his scars with her tongue, to express her sorrow and gratefulness in a way she couldn’t yet say aloud, to follow that V shaped muscle to its point, to take him again into her mouth to revive him for her. He had done the same, her body now his sept of worship, sliding his thick cock into her cunt that ached only for him over and over until she was satisfied and sore and limp. They hadn’t so much as slipped into a peaceful sleep, but had fucked each other into unconsciousness until the next wave broke over them again.

 

His eyes were bright in the early morning light, the color golden and honeyed, beautiful— like the rest of him. She hadn’t been able to get enough of him the night prior— all of him finally on display to her— and even her active and artistic imagination had not been able to conjure the exact details of him, his sculpted thighs, that glorious ass, the thick, beautiful cock nestled into the thatch of dark hair. Exploration and admiration had needed to wait until the storm of their mutual lust had subsided, but once sated for the moment, hands and lips and tongues had mapped every inch of the other before sleep had snatched them away for however brief a time.

 

Sleep was the furthest thing from her mind now, weak sunlight pouring through his window, a slow smile already spreading across her face as his lips found her neck, a soft bite at the pulse point already thrumming wildly for him. He was propped up on an elbow behind her, his chest sealed to her back, a line of sweat already forming, slick between them. His roughened fingers teased at her breast as her eyelashes fluttered, wanting nothing more to arch into his touch, to give herself over and over to him in whatever way he wanted, all for the pleasure of his groans, his satisfaction and shy smile that appeared every time he drove her to orgasm, the way his arms locked tightly around her, keeping her as close as possible when in the throes of his own.

 

She tried to roll onto her back to give him more access, but his fingers trailed down her ribs to grip her hip for only a moment.

 

“Stay still,” his breath was warm against the shell of her ear, another promise wrapped in his voice and he pressed a kiss just behind it, his tongue sampling the taste of her skin again. He shifted closer to her, his hand returning to her breast, nipples already furled tight in anticipation, his fingers tweaking and rubbing, circling and pinching until she moaned, drawing her thighs together to suppress the flood of want coursing through her.

 

He stole her breath. His hands were sure and strong, and he seemed to know what she wanted before she knew herself. His obvious admiration almost, _almost_ made her feel small and shy, undeserving of his rapturous attention, but she firmly pushed that voice that sounded suspiciously like Viserys away. She may not deserve any part of Jon, but she would be thrice damned if she allowed anyone to drag him away from her now that they had come this far.

 

His legs shifted closer behind her, his already hard cock settling within the cleft of her ass, hand once more abandoning her breast with a sigh as he pressed her pelvis back into the cradle of his hips. One of his knees nudged her legs apart, a strong thigh creeping between her own to spread her wide for his touches, to give her something to grind down upon, to remind her of the night prior at the gun range, all of his talent and strength and patience on display as he taught her, trying to keep her focused beyond the feel of those thighs between her legs, the ache of emptiness resounding through her as he pressed against her back.

 

She already felt gapingly unfulfilled, her cunt throbbing against nothing as his plush lips found the back of her neck, suckling at the notches of her spine, the juncture of her shoulder as sharp teeth sunk in and she gasped, her hand reaching behind her to give as well as receive pleasure as his talented fingers continued their journey south, fingers raising before they could brush her exposed nub. A groan of need and anticipation escaped her lips before she could bite it back at the deliberate tease, shifting her hips back to grind against him in revenge, her fingers digging into his ass. Another warning bite to her shoulder as his fingers played in the crease of her hip before reaching to remove her hand from his ass.

 

He linked their fingers, drawing them to his lips to press kisses over before sucking them into his hot mouth, his tongue swirling over them as he hooked his ankle around hers and raised his knee, drawing her open and wide and vulnerable. He withdrew their joined fingers from his mouth with a soft _pop_ before bringing her hand to the inside of her knee, his hand covering hers, drawing her fingers down the crease of it, along the silky skin of her thigh, guiding her to the heart of her core, and she felt her breathing kick up a notch.

 

“Show me,” his voice was liquid magma, searing and boiling, another gush of wetness soaking into his thigh and he groaned in response. “Gods, I’ve barely touched you.”

 

“And yet…” She shifted her hips back into the cradle of his own, his cock springing free and now straining in the open space their legs had created, ever so slightly brushing against her center as Jon teased with a light thrust.

 

She reached down between her legs, intent on guiding his cock into her, already throbbing for him, but instead Jon’s hand tightened over her own again. “Not yet, show me.”

 

His words were a command that sent a pulse of desire straight to the core of her, his hands guiding hers back to her center—waiting, hovering until she pulled her hand out from under his, and laid it on top. Her shaking fingers were now in control as she settled his hand over her outer lips, stroking and guiding him right where she wanted him. She shuddered violently as he lightly brushed his thumb over her clit, her fire raging for him, for his touch— his other fingers stroked through the mess and wet of her need. They both groaned as she guided his middle finger inside her along with her own.

 

The feeling was unlike anything she had ever experienced, overwhelming and full, leading him to that point inside of her, that heat buried deep within, subtle pressure until she curled her finger into his, his mirroring hers and brushing confidently against the magic that lay within her. “Oh gods, there.”

 

She should be more frightened of the power she was giving him, but something inside of her clamored to show him her secret heart, instead of keeping him at arm's length, hiding behind the Dragon Queen mask like she normally did when she took a lover. Most men wanted to see only that side of her in the bedroom, the side that commanded and desired worship above all else, a goddess pulled from the glossy pages of a magazine. At least until the consequences of celebrity caught up to them. And yet, with Jon it was different— he wanted her— Dany, not the Dragon Queen.

 

It was exhilarating, enormous, and above all foreign, that desire to show him all of her wants, her needs, her secret cravings. And yet, she found that alongside the fear she felt a staggering need to let him in— to let him see all of her.

 

She withdrew her hand with a wet squelch, more than willing to let him take the lead from there, to drive her higher and higher until they both burst, reaching again behind her as she thrust her hips forward to give her room to maneuver, catching his eager cock in her wet fist as he buried his face in the back of her neck and she tightened her grip to stroke him root to tip. He moaned into her neck, but his fingers never faltered, adding another, and then a third to her wet heat, stroking and curling within her, rubbing against that spot that he had apparently seared into his soul, driving her higher and higher as his thumb tapped against her clit in a disjointed rhythm that kept her straining, yearning for more. His weight drove her forward, her free hand fisting in the sheets of the bed to brace herself against his thorough onslaught.

 

She was almost there, everything inside of her clenching wildly around his fingers when he withdrew abruptly, leaving her empty. She cried out before he grasped the wrist of her hand around his cock, pulling her off of him, bringing her hand to his hair, allowing her a moment to anchor herself before he lined them up and thrust into her with one powerful stroke. She almost broke, a wail tearing from her throat as he pushed through the tight heat, the wondrous drag of his cock through her channel evoking something guttural within her, her voice too ragged and hoarse to form words.

 

Once lodged firmly inside her, she twisted her upper body toward him as best she could, missing his kisses, the warmth of his eyes, but another bite to the juncture of her neck stilled her before he surged upward onto his elbow, his hips driving forward into her with a grunt. His hand, still wet with her essence, pushed her pelvis down and back to find that exquisite angle he was searching for. She arched her back to help him, his free hand winding into her hair and yanking her head back to finally capture her lips with his own, his tongue plundering her mouth as his hips drove his heavy cock into her again and again.

 

He finally released her bottom lip with a wet _pop_ , his hand returning to where their journey had started, kneading her breast and pulling at her nipples until she almost shrieked, something wild coming from deep within her under his touch, unraveling her. His eyes were completely swallowed by black as his gaze trailed down her twisted body, every part of her on display to him. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from where they were joined, his nostrils flaring with each thrust.

 

His fist in her hair kept her anchored to him, unable to look away from his face even if she wanted to, and she had to huff out a laugh between thrusts, startling him into looking down at her for only a moment before returning to the place where flesh met flesh, wet smacking sounds echoing lewdly in their room.

 

“I knew you liked to watch.”

 

His answer was a growl, his fingers moving back to her neglected clit, swollen and red with need, gathering the wetness there and circling as she keened against him, the first wave of her pleasure gathering, waiting to break over them both. “If you had this view, you would too.”

 

She turned her head into his chest as far as she could, nipping sharply at his pec in return, the feeling of fullness overwhelming her, and with one last slide against her clit that turned into a prolonged press she came unmoored, shaking and pulsing around him, her nipples tightening further, if possible. He groaned into her ear as his thrusting lost its rhythm, his other arm slipping under her to cup her breast and hold her tight, thumb brushing over the tight bud as she convulsed in his arms, the wave breaking across them both again, drawing them further and further out to sea, leaving them to cling helplessly to each other.

 

Her limbs were leaden as she came down from the heavens, the jump of his cock still lodged within her making her clench with the aftershocks. Her mouth was impossibly dry, even as Jon pressed kiss after kiss to her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids, her nose, every part of her that he had as of yet neglected until he finally slid out of her with a groan. She twitched again at the sensation, trying to summon the energy needed to turn over.

 

He seemed to sense her dilemma, taking pity on her and he pulled gently at her hip, hissing slightly as she brushed against his now flaccid cock as she managed to turn onto her other side, burrowing into his chest, sliding her leg possessively over his. His hand found her jaw, tilting it up before burying his hand in her hair, holding her head at just the right angle to fit his lips to hers, for his tongue to slide into her mouth, to greet and tease and adore.

 

He pulled back, the light of day making them both shy, a bit at odds considering what they had spent the majority of the night doing to each other. She felt consumed by him, as if by taking him inside of her body, her soul had taken his into hers as well. He wrapped a tendril of her hair around his finger before dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Hi.”

 

She could feel herself blushing, not quite sure what to do with the abundance of affection dancing behind her ribs, the delight at which she felt waking gently in his arms, the adoration in his eyes that she knew shone back to him from her own. “Hi.”

 

The silence stretched between them, the awkwardness of new lovers making it both tortuous and invigorating. “How’re you?”

 

She smiled shyly, wiggling closer to him, the wet kiss of her nether lips smearing against his thigh. “Oh… You know…”

 

His deep chuckle reverberated through her chest, and she had to close her eyes against the sudden spasm of joy she felt deep within her, the idea that they were finally _here_ overwhelming and wonderful and frightening all in the same turn. She dove for the crook of his neck, burying her face against the sudden onslaught of feeling gushing over her, fighting down the urge to wrap her arms around him and never let go, wanting to stay here in this room, in this bubble with him forever.

 

He seemed to understand, shifting under her until both his arms were wrapped around her, holding her firmly against his chest, fingers dancing lightly through her unbound hair and down her back, their breathing syncing and slowing.

 

The next thing she knew his phone was vibrating on the end table next to him, and she had no idea she could move so quickly until she was lunging the rest of the way across him, her fingers straining for the phone until they closed triumphantly around it. She caught the briefest sight of Robb’s name as she sat up before instinct took over, that fear that something, _anything_ would take him away from her jumping up with a sharp bite, and she tossed the phone through the open door between their rooms, the vibration going silent with the distance.

 

Or so she hoped.

 

She froze, hand still outstretched, in a bit of shock at her own actions until Jon sat up behind her, his arms reaching around her waist to draw her back into his chest. “Now, what did my phone ever do to you?”

 

Her voice faltered at the sharp bite to her shoulder, “Ho- hope you have a good phone case.”

 

“It’s shit.” His hands were wandering up and down her ribs, and she could feel herself melting back into him, now fully awake after their brief doze.

 

“So are those early morning phone ca—“ her words cut off with an abrupt shriek as his fingers dug into her sides, his tickles sending peals of helpless laughter from her lips as he manhandled her back onto the mattress, his fingers continuing their torture until tears were streaming from her eyes. He settled between her legs, chin resting on her chest, tickles turning to gentle, soothing touches as he kissed the happy tears away.

 

She reached for a pillow to prop her head up to get a proper look at him. “Did you at least see who it was?”

 

She threaded her fingers through his hair, his curls loose and wild. “Robb.”

 

He grimaced. “You made the right call.”

 

She couldn’t help the gentle laugh that fell from her lips. “The ceremony is the day after tomorrow,” she said quietly. “Are they coming back soon?”

 

His smile slowly faded, true reality invading their morning for the first time. He rubbed his chin in the valley of her breasts, beard burn there to match the one between her thighs as well. Irri would be thrilled. “What are you askin’, Dany?”

 

She felt her chest expand at his gentleness, that ever present need to protect her both touching and terrifying that it was still needed. The look in his eyes was serious, but open, and she knew he wouldn’t lie to her, but she would need to ask directly. She took a shuddering breath, watching his eyes close as she continued to play with his hair. “Did Vis actually go to rehab?”

 

He sighed, dropping his forehead to her sternum for a moment, pressing a gentle kiss there before he raised his head to look her squarely in the eye. “No.”

 

She nodded, expecting that to be his response, surprised to find her disappointment somewhat muted. “I thought that might be the case. I was hoping he hadn’t called because they took his phone away.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

She nodded. “So am I.”

 

“We’ll come up with a plan. He won’t hurt you again.”

 

She shook her head, her hand finding his cheek and cupping it. “I’m not afraid of that.”

 

He leaned forward, his lips catching her own with a tender bite, his intent obviously to distract her, to wrap her in affection before her thoughts could spiral them both out of control, and she let herself go with him, anything to escape the claws of fear strangling her heart, something she refused to name, refusing to give it that power. She gave herself over to his soft touches until she found him inside her again, her cunt stretched around his length, treasured in the cradle of his arms until his gentle thrusts poured them over the edge again, together.

 

“I could get used to this,” she murmured, lips pressed against his temple, her arms wrapped around his shoulders to keep him close.

 

“Good,” he said, his eyes soft and serious, leaning down to catch her lips with his own, a gentle kiss that held more promises before rolling off of her and reaching for his watch on the nightstand, a soft groan leaving his lips.

 

She pressed in, threading their fingers together, nose to his shoulder. “Do I want to know what time it is?”

 

“No,” he said, turning his head to press a kiss to her brow. “But, I suppose I should tell you Missandei will be here in ten minutes, which means I likely have about thirty missed calls by now.”

 

“If your phone survived,” she grinned up at him unapologetically.

 

He looked down at her, exasperation and affection mixing in such a way that she couldn’t help herself, reaching for him again to bring those plush lips to her own, tongue swirling behind his teeth as he groaned into her mouth.

 

“Seven hells, woman. There’s no time for more of that.”

 

She pulled him back down for one more brief kiss before releasing him, sitting up to take stock of the room and her state of being, the beard burn not the only thing Irri would have to be creative about covering up.

 

_Fuck…_ she was in some serious trouble.

 

Alarm bells started going off in her mind, the amount of skin on display for this shoot…

 

“Jon?”

 

“Aye?” He was also sitting up, rubbing a hand over his face.

 

“Who’s with me for the shoot today?”

 

Although she tried to ask it nonchalantly, his eyes narrowed as he turned to look at her. “Grey. Why?”

 

A slow smile spread across her face. “It should be you.”

 

He sucked in a slow breath, his eyes rapidly losing their brown color to the black of his pupils. “Oh?”

 

“It’ll be worth the trouble. I promise.”

 

He had that same helpless look that often came across his face when she made a request of him, the feeling of power that came with it thrilling and dangerous. She stood, stretching lithely, allowing him to drink his fill of her body, bending over to gather her dress and shoes before sauntering over to the door between their rooms and turning back to him.

 

“Also, don’t be too shocked when you see me next.”

 

She could hear the rattle in his chest from here, felt the same awe as he stood, all his agile strength on display as he crossed to her, his hands spanning her waist before reaching around to grab her ass, pulling her close for one more searing kiss that left them both heaving and wanting.

 

“Play your games, Targaryen. We’ll see who wins.”

 

She grinned up at him, happiness fluttering in her chest. “Aye,” she teased, winking up at him. “We will.”

 

~*~*~

  


He hit end and disconnected his call, trying to keep his mind focused on work. So far he hadn’t been so successful, head full of a slight haze, joints loose and muscles relaxed. The kind of release that came from the rush of endorphins, something that a hard workout provided.

 

Or, he smiled to himself, absurdly happy as he jotted down a few names of their borrowed security crew, the result of spending the last twelve hours in bed with Daenerys. He should be exhausted by lack of sleep, they spent more time fucking in his bed than anything else, instead he felt revived, energy just under the surface of his skin, vibrating and ready to go.

 

With a small sigh of satisfaction he picked up one of his darts, threw it at the board and gave himself a minor congratulations on where it landed.

 

“Are you _smiling_ , Jon Snow?”

 

Startled his feet hit the floor, face turning a low shade of red at being caught kicked back in his office and he found Tyrion in the doorway, too much amusement covering the other man’s face.

 

“I’ve been known to do that from time to time.” He gestured to the seat across from him. “And what brings you down the long hall today?”

 

It really wasn’t normal for Tyrion to seek him out, their business mostly concluded when Stark Securities had signed their contract and only meeting as they passed by each other in the manse or when he was with Dany. There was a brief bubble of hope that maybe they had found the deranged threat, a small moment of panic at the thought of Daenerys walking out of his life as suddenly as she appeared. “News from City Watch?”

 

Tyrion made a scoffing noise as he sat down. “Useless, the whole lot of them. But there isn’t much we can do except use our own wit and brawn.”

 

Papers landed in front of Jon and he paused for a moment, trying to figure out if there was a code he was supposed to be deciphering before he snagged the lot of them, staring down at words in front of him.

 

“These are the factories Slynt was talkin’ about?” With Tyrion’s nod he continued to read through them, trying to make sense of the legal jargon. “Doesn’t show it’s owned by House Targaryen.”

 

“Not at all. Keep reading.”

 

There must a reason Tyrion wanted him to continue and while mildly exasperated, he was not surprised at the game of finding out for himself. He flipped to the next page. “Wait?” He flipped back. “The factories show being owned by Leviathan LLC, but that company is owned by the Krazaaj Zasqa Company? Isn’t that suspicious?”

 

“It’s not completely unheard of.” Tyrion rapped his knuckles on the desk. “But it doesn’t quite stop there either.”

 

Pushing the hair he’d left loose out of his face, he read on, finding just empty names, no employees, continuing on in a puzzle of more and more, the prickling of understanding starting to make its way. “Shell corporations? For whom? Where is the end?”

 

“Haven’t found it yet.” Tyrion picked up the papers as he dropped them, straightening them neatly together. “It is to be expected really, no genuine business is going to attach their names to sweat shops and child slavery.”

 

“If you didn’t think House Targaryen had something to do with it, then you wouldn’t have brought it to show me.” There was a sickness in the pit of his stomach, casting a shadow on his bright morning. He didn’t think for one moment that Dany was involved, there was no absolute way, but it wasn’t something he’d put past Viserys and _that_ would devastate her. To learn her own brother was creating the very thing she was trying to prevent. His heart ached with the unproven realization.

 

“Eventually you’ll read through that and find that one of those companies has been brought up in question to one of Littlefinger’s past dealings.” Tyrion looked tired, worn out, knowledge sometimes weighing down on a person. “And if he’s involved...”

 

“Aye.” Jon rubbed between his eyes at the ache starting to brew. “Fuckin’ Viserys is probably right there with him.”

 

“Of course, we don’t have any actual evidence at this point.” He sighed. “But it is highly suspicious. I’ve hired private investigators who are used to dealing at the corporate level.”

 

“Is that going to get back to Baelish and Viserys?” That was another dangerous twist, anxiety bleeding into him, knowing this could be even more dangerous for Dany. “I don’t want this blowing back on her.”

 

The look Tyrion gave him almost made him squirm in his seat. “No, I hired them under a Lannister business. It won’t look like it’s coming from House Targaryen at all.”

 

“Good.” He relaxed back into his seat, tension draining out of him, trying to gather up his thoughts, wondering how he could properly prepare and get ahead of this mess. “Tyrion…let me be the one to tell her.”

 

He knew how it would look from the outside and they’d probably be right in their assumption, this was different than showing her a note that threatened her life when he was the man in charge of keeping her alive. This was something personal and normally not for a bodyguard.

 

The raised eyebrows of the other man confirmed what Jon thought it would. “Fine, if you think it’s better coming from you… well, it’s not something I wanted to do anyway.” Tyrion stood, brushed imaginary lint off his pants. “You have a hickey on your neck, Mister Head of Security.”

 

He was drowning in embarrassment, hands twitching with the need to cover his skin but he managed to grip the edge of the desk instead, shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal and keep his face schooled to unbothered as Tyrion chuckled and let himself out.

 

When it was clear, he pushed back from his chair fully intent on finding a mirror to see what he’d missed when his phone rang, making his teeth grind together in frustration with the interruption and sighing before dropping back down in his seat at seeing his brother’s name.

 

“Robb.”

 

“Fuck’s sake Jon, I tried calling earlier.”

 

Jon tipped his head back, staring at the white of the ceiling, forever thankful that Robb wasn’t privy to his thoughts, mind suddenly filled with remembering how Dany had looked underneath him, soft and open, blue eyes blurred with passion. “I misplaced my phone.”

 

“How terribly irresponsible. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

 

“You’d be surprised.” Robb’s chuckle didn’t bring the edge of guilt that he thought it might, had hoped it wouldn’t, instead just the enjoyment of the brief wrestling match they’d had in her nest on the floor— where his phone had landed— and the delightful discovery of the sounds she made when she ended up pinned face down underneath him.

 

“Jon!”

 

“Have you seen Baelish?” It was a sudden jump to distract himself and divert Robb’s sure to be lecture, plus information that they needed to know, anxiety filling him instead of the normal joy of a hunt. This was too personal now, he was tangled up in anything Dany and couldn’t find the urge to get out of it. “Tyrion has found something suspicious that might have to do whoever is tryin’ to hurt Daenerys.” He took a breath, anger starting to build, hand clenching before relaxing. “Littlefinger and Viserys might be right in the middle of it.”

 

“Aye, I’ve seen him.” Robb’s voice was a growl that spoke of his own dislike, Jon’s teeth setting together at the confirmation. “What a coincidence, running into you here.”

 

The mock accent was spot on enough to make his skin crawl, the darkness inside him starting to climb its cage as it found a subject to be focused on, something that would dare hurt someone he cared about. “I’ll relay it to Tyrion.”

 

A buzz had him pulling away to look at the screen of his phone, Missandei’s ‘ _where are you?’_ , causing him to look at his watch and groan, time seemingly flying by after a morning in bed. “I’ve got to go. I sent you the info on the extra men we picked up for the award ceremony, get me your thoughts on it please so I can draw up the final plan tomorrow.”

 

Another thing added to his list when he really wanted to hound Tyrion until he had answers. But, he reminded himself, tucking his phone into his pocket after ending the call, small steps couldn’t be missed, they were just as important.

 

After a quick check in with Grey, he headed into a wing he’d only been in to oversee camera installation, which worked well, having tracked the comings and goings of the crew and then, later on, Dany, through the winding halls, the dark walls now flanking him as he sidestepped hurrying workers, feeling the prickle of anticipation under his skin.

 

Which was ridiculous, he chided himself as he made it into the room. It had been mere hours since he’d seen her last, his heartbeat picking up to let him know he was indeed a fool and as he did a scan and didn’t find her, felt the small bit of disappointment setting into the joy— _It was ridiculous—_ his gaze switching all the way back to professional to cover the once ballroom now turned into something _else_ with gauzy fabric floating down over the walls, massive lights giving off heat, all stationed in precise locations.

 

Once, it would have been the oddest thing he’d ever seen, but now he was getting used to it, that part of Dany’s world accepted into his own. Settling in next to the door where Grey and Dei stood, he leaned against the wall to cross his arms, took note of the few startled glances he received. “How’s it been? Quiet?”

 

“Nothing suspicious.”

 

“Good.” Impatient, he checked his watch before adjusting it, ready for this to be over before it even started, knowing they had free time after they were done and wondered what he could talk her into, catching Grey give Dei’s hand a quick squeeze before he left.

 

“You still don’t know what this is about?” Dei’s pretty face was sly as she looked at her phone, no doubt fielding emails and other info for Dany.

 

“No.” He refrained from rolling his eyes, barely. “And everyone seems to be getting great amusement out of it.”

 

“We are.” Without looking at him she picked up a cup of coffee, passing it to him before tucking her phone into her pocket, watching as finishing touches were put on where Daenerys would be.

 

“Inside this time?” He didn’t miss the hum of her amusement as he lifted the cup and taking a drink, sputtering loudly as cold and sweet hit his tongue, not the bitterness of coffee as he expected.

 

“Oh.” Dei’s face was carefully blank and he wondered what trap he had just walked into. “Sorry, that was Dany’s tea. She didn’t get it, as Irri has been chasing everyone away, complaining about all the extra marks that need to be covered up on her neck and chest.”

 

He coughed again, suddenly unable to breathe until she reached over and gave him a healthy slap on the back, awkwardness filling him, knowing it was apparently not a secret that he had been devouring the flesh of her best friend just hours previous and he found himself not quite able to look over at the dark haired woman, instead he took another sip of that awful cold tea, grimacing as he fought it down.

 

Instead, they were interrupted by a loud clap, a tall slender woman with sharp eyes, settling her hands on her hips. “Are we ready?”

 

Everyone scurried, he could think of no other word for it, thoroughly entertained as the woman stood there as confident as a commander, until she swung around with that hard gaze and he felt his spine stiffen in response, the instinct to stand for inspection both surprising and unwelcome, annoyed at his learned behavior at the Watch.

 

“Missandei, my dear, where is our gorgeous girl?”

 

“Almost ready.” Dei seemed to not have the same reaction as Jon, her fingernails tapping lightly on the desk she leaned a hip upon. “Slightly delayed. Jon, this is our photographer, Ellaria Sand. Ellaria, Dany’s bodyguard, Jon Snow.”

 

“Oh?” Eyebrows raised and she took him in, head to foot, appraisingly and he fought the urge to grind his teeth, to shuffle uncomfortably. “You’re the one Oberyn was talking about.”

 

“I was?” She was shifting closer and he was unable to back away, so he made himself stand his ground.

 

“Ah yes, he was correct about all that dark and broody handsome.” She motioned with her hand. “But then again he usually is.”

 

As she stepped closer, Jon got the whiff of citrus, could see the flecks of gold in her eyes, her focus enough that he bristled and crossed his arms, feeling the itch under his collar and glowered until she stopped, a well manicured hand reaching out to land on his forearm and he barely resisted the urge to shake her off.

 

“We’ve made the offer to Dany, to come home with us, have some fun but she’s always declined.” She was weighing him now, dark eyes searching him carefully as she seemed to come to a decision. “Oberyn wanted to extend the invite to you also, the both of you.” Letting go of him she stepped back and he held his ground, keeping his annoyance buried deep. “But I’m going to guess that you’re not the type to share, are you?”

 

He caught Missandei looking up out of the corner of his eye, his attention shifting knowing that Daenerys must have finally stepped out, his eyes moving past everyone to find her petite form.

 

A noise came from his throat, rough and guttural, as his mind stalled out completely as he found her. Gone was the silver siren he’d taken to bed the night before, then spent hours learning her secrets, her sounds, the depths of his emotions, the solid wall behind him the only thing keeping him upright as he took in the brunette seductress, the blue of her eyes taking over her face, stealing the air in lungs as he followed the pale of her skin, those wonderful curves scantily clad in something black and sheer.

 

Something inside him reared its primitive head, the urge to cross across the room and throw her over his shoulder, steal her away was making his hands shake and he fought to bring himself back under control in the room full of people.

 

Managing to tear his gaze away from Dany, barely, he looked at the amused expression of Ellaria Sand, his snarl quiet and firm. “No, I’m not.”

 

“Pity.”

 

Ignoring the retreating form, he watched Dany laugh, the familiar sound chipping at his possessiveness, settling with warmth inside of him, something that was starting to be familiar, welcome, and he leaned his weight towards Dei but didn’t look at her, unable to pull his gaze away. “Is this what I think it is?”

 

Missandei snorted at him. “If you think it’s a lingerie shoot, then yes. Now, I’m going to go work somewhere else that is _not_ here with you two.”

 

He didn’t even look as she walked away, trying desperately to grasp at his professionalism, scrape together self-control and pretend that particular trait of his hadn’t been disappearing ever since Daenerys had been brought into his life.

 

“Oh, you have a suit fitting tomorrow.” Dei didn’t turn back as she called out to him. “Dany’s not taking you to this event looking like a bodyguard, her words, not mine.”

 

That statement was something from him to ponder on, try and convince himself there was nothing more to it, that there _was,_ as Ellaria chased everyone into their places, giving him a warning to stay out of her way.

 

Talking subsided as they started, low music playing in the background, nothing like it had been at the fashion show, this was slow and suggestive, matching the lingerie that Daenerys was wrapped up in.

 

She was gorgeous, but she always was, chin angled for the camera, big bedroom eyes as tempting as the bits of flesh on display, all the delightful work of worshipping her disappeared under the makeup and he felt a surge of heat, a challenge settling in him, the need to mark her up more, let it be seen to anyone just exactly where she was spending her nights.

 

Blowing out a breath, he pushed his hair out of his face, scolded himself for the possessive thoughts. Because there was no need for it, she wasn’t going anywhere, wouldn’t be stolen away from his side and he’d damn well use every resource known to man to keep her safe.

 

Shifting, he eyed the closed door, some of the tension abating when Ellaria had made the announcement that anyone coming or going through the door while she was shooting would be murdered by her bare hands, a threat that had everyone on their best behavior.

 

So his attention was able to go back to Dany, see her twist and turn, angle and hold, mouth shaped in a pout, vivid images of what exactly that mouth had done to him had him letting out a ragged breath, shifting uncomfortably, ignoring Ellaria’s glance at him to watch her, that little flutter in his chest as she continued on.

 

But something was missing from her eyes, from the set of her mouth, the something that was there when she looked at him, that _thing_ that set him on fire, let him know he wasn’t alone in the massive knot of emotion and lust he was wrapped in, his fingers twitching at his side, gaze heavy with want as it traveled up from the toes that curled when she orgasmed, up past the legs that wrapped around him so tightly, lingering over the hips smudged with his fingerprints, now knowing their exact fit, what they felt like when he was buried deep inside of her.

 

Blue eyes met with his, that _something_ flashing in there, a wave of heat engulfing him and balance swaying, he put his hand on the assortment of boxes next to him, to help keep him standing, to keep him from reaching for her, her own glance thorough and wanting, his breath catching in his throat.

 

“Wardrobe change.”

 

The tension paused for a moment in the room, everyone grabbing for bottles of water as Dany moved behind a low curtain, the delicate lines of her collarbones on display to him, the lock of her gaze making him feel a little wild, reckless, urging him to go to her and shred off the scraps of clothing, take her until she was screaming his name.

 

“Everyone out.” Ellaria’s voice startled him out of his daydream, her tone stone cold even though there was a light in her eyes when Jon glanced at her, feet planted in his stance, because _no, he was not leaving_ under her orders. “Asha, you stay. Jon obviously you also. Daenerys, I have an idea.”

 

Irri fussed over Dany’s face for just a moment longer, Jhiqui helping her slip into another piece and both women left silently, leaving the four together in the now silent room, the heat from lights and bodies easing, letting Jon breath a little easier, though he could feel the wariness crawling through him, something about Ellaria’s face giving him a warning.

 

“Let’s use him as a prop.”

 

“What?” That snapped him to attention at the same time a scowl crossed Dany’s face.

 

“No, not a prop then.” Hands went to slim hips as she studied her model. “Daenerys, darling, you’re beautiful as always. But I want more than that. I want people talking about this, talking about you!”

 

She whirled then, turning quickly and he squared his shoulders, held his ground with narrowed eyes, senses on high alert at the sudden change, wanting nothing more than to gather Daenerys behind his back.

 

“You bring out a look in her.” A finger pointed at his chest. “You stand there and eye-fuck her and she looks _hungry._ I want that in front of me.”

 

With a snap, she was moving again, back to Dany who was watching his reaction, curiosity mingling with the sharp edge in her eyes and while he was still confused, he knew whatever was about to happen would be her choice.

 

“What are you suggesting?”

 

A strand of that foreign brown hair was being wound around her finger, her eyes inviting, creating a knot in his stomach, a ball of heat that twisted through him as he watched in interest, nervousness, lust, frozen into one spot waiting for more.

 

“You can look at him. I’ll put him behind me and you two can make each other hot all you want. I just want that-“ she held her hands up, framing Dany in her hands. “-in my lens.”

 

He was unable to explain the churn of feelings inside of him, something possessive not wanting anything to do with Ellaria Sand’s wild ideas, another flash of wanting everyone to see how she looked at _him_ and no one else, to gloat and crow, leaving him shifting on his feet, heart thumping loudly as Dany tilted her head, looking at him adoringly, trusting, wantonly, making his cock twitch in the tight confines of his jeans.

 

“Jon.”

 

A slender hand was held out, his body moving to her before his mind had caught up, the warning growl to not mess up her makeup making his own hackles go up, frustration of being out of his element abating with the touch of her fingers sliding through his and then she was all he saw, her slight weight leaning into him, free hand coming up to play with the ends of his hair, his own going to the small of her back, settling there to feel soft flesh, soothing ragged edges inside of him.

 

“What do you think?” Her voice was low and soft, giving the illusion of privacy, not able to be overheard over the easy beat of the music.

 

“Dany, I don’t even know exactly what’s bein’ asked of me.” The feel of her hand on his neck made his eyelashes flutter and he pulled her in a little tighter, needing her a little closer.

 

“You just have to look at me.” Her words came out low, nails dragging lightly against his scalp. “Look at me the way you do, the way that makes me think I’m the only one.”

 

“You are.” His chest was tight again, that wonderful ache that threatened to bubble over at any moment, his fingers untangling from hers to sweep up her sides, dancing over ribs, thumbs glancing off the sweet round sides of breasts, her head tilted back to stare up at him and he was ready to agree to anything she wanted, whatever she needed, that small smile curling up the ends of her mouth.

 

When she tilted her chin, offering up her lips, he closed in, unable to deny her, not wanting to, jaw unlocking to sweep his tongue into her mouth, find hers to curl around, that soft, sweet body leaning into him with a barely audible groan and he was greedy, instantly ready to take her out of the room, but instead tilting her chin as they leisurely explored, the pulse at her neck wild under his fingertips, breathing heavily as he slowly pulled away, lingering even as he heard footsteps behind them.

 

“Step back Jon.”

 

Ellaria’s voice was quiet and firm, careful not to burst into the bubble that had wrapped so tightly around them and he slowly did, body craving the heat of Dany as he lost contact with her, unable to look away, Irri darting in to dab at that kiss-swollen mouth, then the gentle whirring of the camera in his ears as Asha moved around him, adjusting the lighting, that sea blue gaze tracking him, setting him ablaze, crackling down his skin, leaving him desperate, vainly trying to keep himself gathered.

 

Fuck, he was addicted, feeling that pull towards her, full lips parting with her breath, his hands flexing under her come-hither stare and he _needed_ to put his hands on her, let his touches drive them both mad until he pushed them to pleasure, greedily take every ounce of her that she was willing his give.

 

“That’s good. It’s amazing. Jon, go back in again.”

 

That voice was like a bee in his ear, annoying and he let out a gust of air but obeyed, helplessly unable to resist, letting Dany melt into his chest, her eyes dark, pupils fat as he tugged slightly on the ends of her hair, not caring that they were on display as he molded his hands over her arse, squeezing enough to hear her gasp, the light fabric dragging over her skin, catching on the scars on his palm, her desperate dig to get under the back of his shirt made him want to call an end to this game they were playing.

 

“Please tell me we are almost done.” It was a low plea, his sanity hanging by a thread, her own hum of agreement settling in his spine as he nosed along her ear, the sharp smell of hair color, the earthier tone of makeup muting the normal smell of her skin, but he found it, placed a kiss at her hairline, felt her shiver against him.

 

“Almost.” Her words fell over his skin, putting him a little further under her thrall and he closed his eyes, needing the strength to step away again, barely remembering to do a quick scan of the area even though his senses told him nothing was off, his eyes quickly snapping back to her, not able to look away.

 

Ellaria was murmuring low praises, quiet curses of excitement, Dany’s moments slower now, his blood starting to boil with the recognition of it, having spent his time learning her, her limbs becoming clumsy with arousal and it made the tips of his fingers tingle, his cock hard but nobody was looking at him, not with her in the room.

 

She was brilliant, he knew it, the center of everything, equal parts of steel and heart, so much more than a beautiful woman wrapped up in designer clothes and everything he felt was enormous, his chest almost not able to contain it all.

 

“Done.”

 

The tension in his shoulders rolled off as she gave him a long look at the word that released them from the limbo they were caught in, her wish was his command as she turned and he followed, ignoring Ellaria’s noise of surprise, the line of her back showing through the sheer fabric.

 

The doorknob opened under her hand, the small room off to the side having been converted into a dressing room and he could already feel the wildness unleashing inside him as she stepped inside, turning as he came in behind her, the door clicking shut.

 

He was on her before she could say anything, dragged to her toes, lipstick smearing as he bit her lip first, then her moan vibrating between them as his tongue curled behind her teeth, hands searching frustratedly in what seemed to be a puzzle of fabric, nothing giving way despite the scarcity of it.

 

“Don’t rip it.” She was already pushing the holster off his shoulders and he grabbed his gun before it could clatter to the floor, tearing his eyes away to set it in the middle of a tray of makeup, ripping his Henley over his head in one swift movement before yanking her close again.

 

“Fuck….” he pushed the material to the side enough to free a nipple, already tightened and awaiting his touch, finger and thumb pinching it enough to hear her breath catch, need vibrating through him, lust making it difficult to think. “I want you. How do I get this off of you?”

 

“Work around it.” Hands were on his jeans, fingers clever and he moved his mouth to her neck, grimaced at the layer of makeup he found, the taste in his mouth, frustrated that she seemed to be covered in it, forgetting that in the next moment as she freed his cock with a purr, fisting it to give it a gentle pump, pushing him closer to losing control.

 

“Fuck.” Shoving his jeans down farther, he gathered up her hair, holding her still when she looked like she was going to swallow his cock, giving her his mouth instead, roughly, letting her match his urgency, hands moving over her shoulders to cup her neck, moving her steadily backward until she hit the vanity, whimpering in delight as he pinned her there.

 

Stepping back he bent enough to cup her freed tit, letting the weight rest in his hand before suckling at the tip, letting it turn red under his attention, her hands gathering in his hair as she wriggled and made noises, so fucking responsive to what he was doing.

 

But it wasn’t enough, his freed cock aching to be inside her and he spun her with force, noting her wide-eyed look in the mirror as he pushed at her back, her elbows knocking things off the wooden surface.

 

He admired the sight of her bent over and waiting, fingers plucking at the swatch between her thighs, soaked through, igniting him, fingers squeezing the cheek of her arse hard enough to make her groan, bite her lip as she watched him through their reflection.

 

“You’re gorgeous. Drives me mad sometimes.” Fingers pushed aside the fabric, finding her folds slick and swollen, ready for him again, her sharp noise drowned out by his rougher one, dropping down even farther to drag his tongue along her seam, collect the taste of her in his mouth, thumb tapping lightly on her clit so she’d make a high pitched noise. With regret he moved on, too impatient to stay in one spot, teeth finding the swell over her buttock, causing her hips to jump as he moved to the line of her spine, moving up it slowly, delighting in the taste of her skin, pressing her lower and he shoved his jeans down, hands grasping her hips to angle them.

 

“And you tease.”

 

With his knee, he shoved her thighs wider, cock in hand to drag against the wet of her, to do exactly what she accused him of, her mewling making him bite her shoulder, another mark to add to her collection before he thrust through her tight walls, a wonderful scalding heat wrapping around the length of him as she bucked under the intrusion.

 

A thumb through the fabric kept it out of his way, and he shifted in a grind, watching her eyes flutter in the mirror, standing upright again to run a palm up her back, his own wits completely gone, only feeling, the gentle give of her body as he pulled almost completely out before slamming back in, the sight of her face twisting as she pushed back against him, the sound of flesh and pleasure filling the small room.

 

He rode her hard, keeping her pinned by the flat of his hand, watching her face in the mirror as she tried to stay quiet, everything knotting up inside of him, racing through his veins.

 

Control was hanging by the thinnest thread, she felt so fucking good around his cock and he shifted, a thrust that sent her on her toes, head dropping down and he caught the ends of her hair, giving a slight tug as he slowed his rhythm, hard snaps of his hips. “Watch us, Dany.”

 

Her groan was ragged as she obeyed, his hand slipping down the front, pulling her back tighter, giving him access to rub lightly at her clit, change to a gentle tap as she jolted against the sensations, walls starting to flutter and he gritted his teeth, determined she’d go first.

 

And she did, a hand braced against the mirror and she keened and pulsed, cunt grabbing desperately as his cock, pulling him up to the edge until he fell off with her, bucking hard, his rough growl falling across her shoulders as he collapsed forward, her hips caught between his and the vanity, his own convulsions hard enough she’d probably have more bruises from the wood.

 

Air was coming in great gulps, the heat from their bodies making their flesh slick where they touched, her ribcage expanding under him as she panted and he managed to pet her flanks, push some of her hair out of his face, dragging his lips across the nape of her neck before climbing clumsily to his elbows, hissing as he pulled out of her.

 

He managed to collapse back into a chair, shake his own hair out of his eyes and begin to process thoughts back together, handing her a small towel from where it lay on top of a tray of supplies.

 

She looked ravished and pleased about it, makeup smeared, eyes still soft as she dabbed at the mess between her thighs, a small smile on her face. “You really like the brunette.”

 

Another hard hit in his chest at her jest and he reached forward, rising up to meet her as he caught her wrist, tugging her closer. “Dany.” He cupped her face, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, his eyes wide and unblinking and he hoped she could see everything in there that he was too scared to admit out loud. “I really like _you.”_

 

He wasn’t prepared for her closing the distance between them in a rush, flinging herself into his arms, the post coital haze gone from her eyes, instead they were round with emotion, the soft noise she made muffled as she closed her mouth over his, opening to give him control and he cupped her neck, thumbing along her jaw, tasting slowly, frantic need no longer driving them, but a thoroughness and he needed her to feel what he did as he kissed her until she melted into him, his heart beating rapidly under her palm.

 

A quiet knock startled him, drawing him back to reality and he gripped her, hands flexing on her hips, adrenaline flooding what had been lethargic limbs until an unsure voice reached inside.

 

“Ummm, Ellaria says you can keep the outfit.”

 

A snort came from where her head was buried in his chest, the heat of embarrassment covering him as he realized the crew must have been outside cleaning up while they were in there fucking.

 

“Oh, gods.” Dany’s body shook with laughter. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

 

Jon thought he might be content to hide out in the dressing room forever now, he could protect her just fine from inside the small space. “This is your fault.”

 

At his mock growl, she looked up, her hands spanning over his shoulders and then down his arms, her touch making him crave more from her, always more. “This is _your_ fault. I’ve done hundreds and hundreds of photo shoots and never needed to be ravished in the middle of one.”

 

On her tiptoes she brought her mouth close to his, fingers dancing along his wrists. “This is all on you, Jon Snow.”

 

The lips that closed over his bottom one made him see stars, her tongue parting his mouth easily and he was helplessly lost to her again as she worked him over with her magic until he was gasping, eyes closed, forehead tipped into hers.

 

Finally, when his eyes were able to open, he caught her wink as she stepped back, strapping his watch back around her wrist. “I’m not the only one who can be distracted.”

  


~*~*~

  


They stayed hidden away for as long as they could, neither able to show their faces outside of the makeshift dressing room until Missandei had finally come to drag her out, intent on keeping her to her schedule no matter what potential embarrassment she had heaped upon herself, and him— no doubt the entire household now abuzz with their mistress’ doings, and who at that.

 

Dany didn’t know what had come over her.

 

Well, other than the obvious.

 

To say that her affection for Jon had crept up on her would be a disservice to them both— she’d been attracted to him from the moment she had laid eyes on him all those weeks ago, his haunted eyes, the way he wrapped himself up in that leather jacket of his that he wore like armor, that incredibly frustrating attitude of defiance that colored their early interactions.

 

But she had no idea how to make him understand that she had never behaved so wantonly before— _ever_ , and especially in a professional setting. That she had even entertained Ellaria’s hairbrained scheme, brought him into the shoot— _gods_ , what on earth had she done? And then, to add insult to professional injury, she hadn’t even wrapped properly! Ellaria had said the word “done” and it had been like an arrow straight to the bullseye of her cunt, the need to take him by the hand overwhelming, get somewhere even remotely private and let him take her, ravish her, do whatever he liked to her.

 

She liked it as well.

 

“I’ve never seen Ellaria look more proud, or confused, so something must have gone well!” Dei teased as she shut the door to Dany’s bedroom on Grey after he cleared the room for the two of them.

 

Dany could feel her face flushing— now that the heat of the moment had passed, she was more than a little mortified about not only what had occurred, but also that she had let it happen in the first place. She should have known that Ellaria would try to bait her with Jon, mostly for Ellaria’s own pleasure, and Dany should have known better, should have seen it for the thin veil it was and never allowed it. It had been her turn to protect him, and she had utterly failed, allowing herself and Ellaria to take advantage of his giving nature, his naivete when it came to this industry and—

 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._ She had used him, whether or not he realized it, whether or not he felt that way. She had allowed her own lust to color what was left of her rapidly fraying better judgement in a red haze of desire, her only thoughts of him, of chasing that new edge of unfamiliar and overwhelming feeling that she had no name for, every fractured piece of her tangled up in a confusing mass.

 

“Did she mention if she got the shot?”

 

Dei’s eyebrows shot skyward. “You don’t know if she got the shot?”

 

Dany dropped heavily onto her bed, covering her face with her hands. “No,” she replied mournfully.

 

“Would that have anything to do with that—” Dei’s fingers brushed gently over a bruise on the back of her neck— _his lips and teeth and tongue everywhere all at once as the snap on her dress finally released her, his rough fingertips flowing up her belly to breasts that had been aching for his touch for days, a_ real _touch, finally intentional to erase the accidental, the panic induced—_ Gods, she needed to get a grip. One of the many bruises that Dany had found in the morning light and that had Irri demanding a raise before her day’s work was done. “—and that, and that, and seven hells, Dany!”

 

“I know!” she wailed in reply, letting her friend drag her hands away from her face to stare into her mirth filled golden eyes, lips pursed to keep from laughing. “It’s not funny!”

 

“It’s a little funny,” Dei nudged her with an elbow as she sat down next to her. “Does that mean that you two…”

 

_The way his eyes lost all color and warmth, the heat normally found in them a swirling blaze between them, their fire stoked higher and higher until grappling hands and frantic kisses chased the ecstasy that lay in wait for them both._

 

Dany groaned. “Obviously.”

 

“Girl. Spill.”

 

“You first.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘me first’?”

 

Dany fixed her with an incredulous look of her own. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you and Grey sneaking around behind all of our backs! Jorah may be blind to that kind of shit when it comes to you, but I am not.”

 

Missandei blushed. “We’re definitely taking things slower than you are.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“No judgement, gods know it’s been awhile since you got laid. I was beginning to think Daario found a _maegi_ to put a curse you or something.”

 

Dany could feel her face heating again and flopped back onto the bed, eager to duck the delightfully curious and somewhat devilish look on Dei’s face. “I think…” she trailed off, unsure whether or not she could bring herself to say the next part out loud, knowing that if she did, it would make it real, would make all of these burgeoning feelings already fluttering within her breast take full flight, her heart pounding in time with his watch now safely back on her own wrist where it belonged, more than a little afraid of what that admission might bring.

 

Of what it might mean for them both, especially with the swirl of fear and uncertainty that seemed to reside constantly in her belly— that unknown threatening to topple the fragile joy and peace she was trying to build for herself, to carve out a space meant only for them.

 

“You think what?” Dei softly pressed, sprawling out next to her, wild curls askew as she propped her head up on an elbow, curiosity turning serious and gentle in a heartbeat.

 

Dany swallowed tightly, gathering her courage around her before turning to face her best friend. “I know it’s been less than 24 hours since... You know… But, I think it may be more than that?”

 

“Well, yes.”

 

“What, ‘well, yes’?”

 

“Dany,” Dei’s admonishment was absurdly gentle, as if speaking too forcefully or loudly might shatter her into a million pieces. “I know that you might not have a lot of experience with matters of the heart, but really?”

 

“He’s made it very clear that this is a job.”

 

“It is a job, and?”

 

“What if that’s all it is to him?” And there it was— her fears laid bare— that once this was over, Jon would pack himself away and out of her life as soon as the check cleared. That she had built a spun-glass castle on a foundation of sand, easily swept away. That she had somehow mistaken his gentle protectiveness as affection, had lost herself to an idea of the man instead of the reality of him.

 

“Do _you_ believe that’s all it is?” Dany opened her mouth to reply, but Dei shook her head, caramel curls bouncing wildly in the afternoon light. “Think about it for a minute. Because when I see the two of you, I definitely see more than a bodyguard and his charge. In fact, it’s a bit nauseating to sit in the backseat with the two of you all the time, and I’m starting to think about insisting that we take separate cars everywhere.”

 

Dany bit her lip, her mind racing over the thousands of tiny moments that had built to this point, the way his eyes warmed when she entered a room, the barest hint of a smile on his stern face that he seemed to save just for her, all of his gentle touches— so not how she interacted with anyone else— the way her skin seemed to crave the feel of his. His sheepish and shy look as he introduced her to Davos, almost as if he was afraid that showing her that simpler side of himself would cause her to pull away. His patience as he walked her through how to safely use the gun that Rhaegar had left for her, the deep and abiding sorrow in his eyes when she had pointed out that it was only a piece of paper, the knowledge that what he was asking may be impossible for her, but he had to try.

 

The fact that he had seen her at her worst, battered and bleeding and broken, and hadn’t turned away, had instead gathered her into him, allowing his strength to become her own, supporting but never pushing.

 

Everything inside of her wanted to give a resounding _no_ in answer, that this couldn’t possibly be just a job, that for a man of few words, he was doing his best to show her every day, to force himself out of his own comfort zone and further into her world.

 

Perhaps it was time she tried to do the same for him.

 

Dei gently nudged her. “Well?”

 

“No,” Dany whispered. “I don’t think it’s just a job? I hope it’s not.”

 

“And the sex?” Dany felt her face heat wildly, her cunt roaring to life with a painful throb, empty and already aching for him again. Dei’s laugh was gentle, “That good huh?”

 

“Let’s just say that Irri might need that raise she was demanding today.”

 

“Do you want it to be more than that?”

 

There was the question she had been hoping Missandei wouldn’t ask, to spare her the fact that she already knew the answer, hating the fact that a spiral of fear immediately followed it, so much uncertainty hanging over her head.

 

What she wanted rarely mattered in her life.

 

But Jon was starting to pull out threads of herself that she didn’t know existed, nurturing new growth like a sapling struggling in new earth— true value and hope and something unfamiliar but deeply craved— something momentous and frightening and wonderful.

 

“Talk to him, Dany.” Dei’s voice pulled her from her deep internal dive, her friend’s hand warm and soft in her own, so different from Jon’s calloused and firm grip it was almost startling to feel the contrast between them. “And not just because it’s something you want, and you need to know if he wants it too. But because…” Dei’s voice trailed off, the seriousness flooding her features turning her beauty pale and full of inexplicable sorrow.

 

“Life’s short,” she continued, a sudden sheen across her golden eyes. “You know it, I know it, and something tells me he does too.”

  


~*~*~

  


When he finally made it back to his office, Grey successfully following Dany around, he was tired, mind absolutely spun from being caught up in her world, happily worn around the edges and could still taste her on his lips.

 

It was something he could get used to, he surmised as he once again pulled out his map of the Keep, made notes and jotted down ideas. He’d pull Jorah for doing a sweep, let him be there waiting for their arrival and keep Dany and Viserys separate, taking two cars. Not only would it keep her away from her vile brother, but he’d be able to keep a car at the main entrance and give them one at his second escape route through the kitchen keep.

 

Remembering back to the cluster fuck of the runway show, he wrote down in plain penmanship that Grey would be the point for driving. He tagged a copy of a map to send to the other man.

 

A motion in the security camera caught his eye, his heart warming with the sight of her back in lounge clothes, foreign hair piled on top of her head as she headed into her office, Grey clearing the room before she went in, no doubt to spend hours trying to figure out housing for those who were dependent on Rhaegar’s Harp. Someone else could do it, seven hells, anyone else, but she was determined to see it through.

 

Turning back to his own work, he ran over their route again, timing, until the work was tedious and memorized, as familiar as the scars in his hand. Which is how he needed it to be. There could be no room for faltering or panic, everyone must move like machines.

 

The quiet knock on his door startled him, hopeful eyes shifting away from the screen and he tried not to be disappointed at finding Missandei there, a small smirk on her face at his expression.

 

“Do you have a minute?”

 

With his motion, she crossed over to him, sitting in the extra chair. “ _Ziry_ wants an exclusive interview with Daenerys before the ceremony, on the red carpet”

 

Letting out a huff of air between clenched teeth, he scrubbed a twitching hand over his face, the thoughts of her being out and exposed for one moment longer than necessary causing something inside him to clinch.

 

“Before you deny them—“ Dei’s look turned shrewd. “if we can make it work, we should. It’s good press for her and we can frame it as having to rearrange our schedule, which may buy us a favor in the future.”

 

“And we need a favor?”

 

“You never know. It doesn’t hurt, and with everything else that is going on, having something good on the front page, is not bad.”

 

“You sound like Tyrion.” Closing his eyes to think, he went over their steps, knowing how much time he had allowed for lingering, resigning himself to the fact that he would not be able to control every movement and every second. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he gave Dei a dark scowl. “Tell them you don’t know. Tell them to be on standby. I’ll plan on it, put it in your schedule if you need, but no one else knows. They can meet us in the Outer Yard—“ he blew out a breath and looked at his map, hating to be that exposed. “-no, change that to the Small Hall, I’ll have Jorah clear it for us beforehand.”

 

She frowned back, pulling out her phone to no doubt mark it on her calendar. “How long am I supposed to keep them hanging?”

 

“Until we pull up to the curb.” It may be an overreaction or it could be them threading a dangerous line, but he knew that it was something Dany would want to do without having to even ask. So, he’d choose the option he liked the least. “Seriously, Missandei, I don’t want them to know until we are within a block.”

 

She sighed, a long drawn out noise to let him know how difficult he was making her job, but he didn’t care, already full of tension, his awareness raising with every minute he spent buried in the job, senses working overtime to see if he could find an already set trap.

 

Gods, he needed this event to be over, needed Tyrion’s PI to turn up something useful. Or perhaps even the City Watch doing their bloody jobs to the best of their abilities. Maybe once this ceremony was over he could convince her to hole up with him somewhere, let everyone else sort out the mess for once.

 

“I’m having dinner sent up to Dany’s office.” Dei stood, tucking her phone back in her pocket, smoothing down the tail end of her shirt. “For both of you. See if maybe you can distract her long enough to eat something.”

 

Jon appreciated the soft look of concern in the other woman’s eyes and reminded himself he wasn’t the only one there who cared about Dany, a ridiculous oversight on his part.

 

“Aye, I’ll head up there in about—“ he checked his empty wrist, heat rising up his neck when he remembered where his watch went, a few lusty images flitting through his mind. “Soon… I’ll head up there soon.”

 

He made himself finish his work, slowly tidying up, not allowing the urge to rush through everything and run to her side, though the want was there, making him feel like a green boy with his first crush, knowing it was much more than just that simple.

 

Finally he was wrapped up for the night, a check of his phone advising him that he’d worked later than planned and checking in with Grey over their comms, moved the short distance to where Dany was tucked behind her desk, feet curled below herself, a finger wrapping up in the antiquated cord from the phone sitting amongst the pile of papers.

 

It was still a bit of a shock to see the brown piled atop her head, knowing it would always leave him with that red hot streak of desire from the knowledge of what it looked like paired with sheer lingerie, but he pushed past his endless lust, to focus on the tired timbre of her voice, shoulders drooping forward as a flower left too long in the heat.

 

So instead of sitting on the couch behind her, he settled on the edge of her desk, the bright smile she gave warming his insides, making him feel pleasantly fuzzy around the edges and he answered a few messages on his own phone while she wrapped up her call.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hello, yourself.” When she stood and stretched, he reached out to catch her around the waist, pulling her in between his legs, her sigh falling across his neck as she melted into him and he banded his arms around her, delving below her shirt to rub the notches along her spine, basking in the sensations, her fists gathering up the fabric at his back.

 

“You’ve been busy.” He let his cheek scrape against hers, pulling her a little tighter as she shivered before craning her head back to look at him. There were dark smudges under her eyes, filling him with a brief flash of guilt since he’d kept her up all night and had selfishly hoped to keep her up again.

 

“Yes.” Hands moved across his shoulders. “I have a list of properties to look at, see if any of them will work for Rhaegar’s Harp.”

 

“You’re not going to rebuild where it was?” Shamefully, he hadn’t inquired, too busy in his own duties, neglecting to ask about hers and he felt terrible about it, realizing he wanted to know about her day, all of her days, something that both terrified him and made him ache with a want for something he never thought he’d have.

 

“This may be faster.” He cupped her face, slim fingers closing over his wrists, the sadness in her eyes bringing out the side that wanted to chase all of her problems away. “The children need their home.”

 

“They are lucky to have you in their corner.” He kissed her then, unable to resist, her big heart making his own soar, plump lips parting for him as he reveled in her goodness, her need to help, catching her moan in his mouth as he kept it slow, deep, thorough, lazing licks and light nibbles, in no hurry to sate the burn inside of himself, just enjoy the feel and taste of her.

 

A knock made him pull back, cupping her face, reluctant to part, but the smell of food made him let go, curling his fingers to his palms against the loss as she moved away, greeting the maid with a smile and words of thanks before closing the door, shutting them away from everything else for a bit.

 

“How are they doing?” He settled into the chair he’d first slept in, all those weeks ago, watching her fight through nightmares. “The children.” When he looked up from his plate, she was staring at him, expression unreadable but still made him want to squirm in his chair. “This must be very upsetting for them.”

 

“They are adjusting.” That mouth quirked at him. “They seem to be as resilient as I was once told.”

 

Fuck— she always managed to tie him up in knots, make his words fail when he should be able to tell her something poetic or flowery. “Good. They’ll make it through this and you’ll get it sorted out for them. Everything will work out in the end.”

 

He believed that with everything inside of him, watching as her cheeks turned pink, before he took a bite of salad to keep him from moving over to her, wanting to hold her close for no other reason than to breathe her in, feel her heartbeat under his palm.

 

Instead, he pushed them into easier territory, listening to her steadfast determination to get Rhaegar’s Harp back as quickly as possible, they ate their meal together, Jon made sure he asked questions to keep her talking, enamored by her plans, knowing he would have to ruin it with talk of her brother and hating to add that to the pile of hardships already on her.

 

So, he put it off, waiting until she had finished her plate before pulling her to the couch, wanting nothing more than to just curl around her for a few minutes, letting her collapse awkwardly across his chest, the leather protesting as they shifted and settled, her eyes soft as she wriggled closer in, his fingers winding in her hair.

 

“You know that the brown will be gone soon? Are you going to miss it?”

 

He blew out a breath at her amused tone, the strands in question moving with the short gust of air, slightly amazed at how quickly the silver had been hidden— and could come back, ignoring the leap of joy his heart made at her words. Soon was not forever, but it could be a bit of an implication that she might want him around for longer than security duty.

 

“I like the brown.” He waited until she angled her head up to look at him, wrinkle between her brows. “And I like the silver. I believe you could have no hair and still be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

 

The roughness of his voice gave him away and she shifted up, eyes soft as she pressed her lips to his, once, twice, lingering before she settled back down. “You flatter me.”

 

“I’m just telling the truth.” He tightened his arm around her, let them bask in a comfortable silence, dragging out the quiet moment for as long as possible.

 

“This is nice.” She wriggled against him, getting more comfortable and he was full and happy, content to just pet without a goal in mind, drawing in her presence, letting himself relax even more.

 

“Aye.” Gods it felt good to be there with her, something he’d imagine normal would be like, a concept that had once seemed like it would never see the light of day, never be within his grasp, now beginning to take shape, imagination running wild. “I don’t know the last time I lazed around on the couch like this.”

 

Slender fingers slid under his shirt, small patterns being drawn over a scar and he knew exactly when the last time he’d laid around. But never for fun. Pinpricks skated over his skin with the memory, the odd sensation of sensitivity yet dullness as she touched the damaged tissue, his anxiety almost making him twitch combined with the longing to let her do what she pleased with him, hold up the rest of his broken pieces for her gentle examination.

 

See if they matched against hers.

 

Uncertainty made him shy away, the unknown of how deep she was in _them_ , making him balk, so he steered them into what might be safer territory, breathing in the scent of her skin. “Davos called me today.”

 

“Oh?” Her movement faltered, tension stiffening the body against his before she let out a long breath.

 

It was unfair of him to draw out the suspense when he could sense her hesitant curiosity. He shifted his hand to stroke the nape of her neck. “He likes you.”

 

She melted a bit more into his side. “He does?”

 

“Apparently.” Davos’ enthusiasm had almost made his head spin, the older man’s delight in seeing Jon so ‘ _properly enamoured’,_ was almost terrifying— except Jon couldn’t disagree on how utterly captivated he was by her. “He wants to know when I’m bringing you back.”

 

“Are you planning on taking me back there, Jon Snow?”

 

Her head lifted, a cautious guard over her face, one that sent a pang through his heart, so easily recognizable. He’d seen it in the mirror all his life.

 

“If you’ll go with me.”

 

There it was again, flickering in the depths of her eyes before she slid forward, her breath warm on his lips before her own caught his, the slight groan being swallowed up as she cupped his face, his fingers sliding into her hair, anchoring himself, her, as he let the soft feel of her sweep him away.

 

When she finally pulled away, leaving him embarrassingly needy for her touch, he placated them both by tucking her back to his side, tried clearing the emotion out of his throat. “But I’m warning you now, if we go back you’ll be expected to meet the whole crew of them. It’s utter chaos.”

 

“Seven children and a small herd of grandchildren, I’m assuming? That’s a lot of people.” Her fingers found his, lacing through easily, her hand swallowed by his. “I’m good in a crowd.”

 

He snorted in amusement, remembering the fashion show, wondered briefly what had happened to that ridiculous outfit she had been clad in that night. “You’ll need to be, there.”

 

“Then how do you do it?” There was a laugh in her voice, chin propping up on his chest.

 

“You’re a riot, Targaryen.” It was a grumble, but yet he was ridiculously pleased, charmed by her teasing, so unused to it that he could feel the flutter echoing inside of him and he tugged at a strand of her hair in retaliation. “They’ve unofficially adopted me, the whole lot... and it’s not much different than being surrounded by the Stark clan.”

 

A strand of melancholy suddenly swept over him, making him feel the need to give more, make her understand the momentous step forward this would be for him. “After the Watch—“ a gentle touch of the scar over his heart had his eyes closing. “My siblings were all there, of course- they took turns harassing me into working on survivin’, but they all have busy lives, couldn’t spend all their time babysitting me..” Shaking his head at his attempt to make light of the situation, he hurried on. “But Davos pushed me forward. I was in a bad place, have been for a while and he wouldn’t just let me lay down and give up. Fuckin’ annoying if you ask me.”

 

She was looking at him again, his heart beating wildly under the strain of the heavy gaze, afraid to read so much into it. “He was the one who convinced me to come down here. Robb has been asking me to go back to work with him for months and I kept tellin’ him no. This came up and I was going to refuse again but Davos told me to pick my sorry arse up and go at it again.”

 

“I’m glad he did.”

 

“Me too.” The need for skin drove him to slide his hand under her shirt, let his hand span across her back, soothing himself with little strokes of his thumb. He wanted to say something profound or honest, but instead stayed silent unable to find the words, letting his breathing match to hers and lay in silence, listening to the house settle around them in the pressing night.

 

“What was it like— growing up with a large family?”

 

The sound of her voice pulled him back from where he had started to drift off, eyelids heavy, the warmth of her seeping all the way through to his center and he had to focus on the question, ignore the longing to stay just like that forever. “I can remember just wanting a moment's peace sometimes, younger siblings underfoot, Robb and I in trouble all the time.” He smiled at the memories. “Stark and Snow, running around terrorizing everyone we could find. Getting in trouble again for packing Arya around once she was old enough, get her mixed up with our foolish ideas.”

 

“It sounds wonderful.”

 

There was longing in her voice, the sad note of growing up lonely and it hurt his heart, made him pull her a little tighter. Even growing up under the cold indifference of Catelyn Stark wouldn’t have been the same for him as it was for her. He’d had his siblings, Ned, and she had done mostly without anyone.

 

“It was, for the most part.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, wanting to pry gently, learn all the different facets of her, but not wanting to push. “But, even with all of that, I just felt like I didn’t quite fit in with them all. So as soon as I was old enough, I joined the Night’s Watch. Gods, Robb just about disowned me then. He was furious I’d do that and not join him in the business. Look how that turned out.”

 

“Maybe you needed that, to get away and forge your own path, even if it wasn’t permanent.”

 

He thought of everything he’d learned, how his preconceived notions had been shot to the seven hells. There was no going back to that naive teenage boy with a touch of cockiness. No, not after he’d been elbows deep in the gore and marrow of the ugly truths of the world. “Maybe.” He stroked his fingers down her spine, let her softness dull his hard edges. Found himself craving from her.  “And what about you? Was putting your face on magazines what you dreamed of as a girl?”

 

“No,” her fingers curled against him, her voice a low sound that made him ache. “I’ve always wanted to design, not model.”

 

“Then why do you do it?” It was none of his business, an uncomfortable question and probably crossing so many lines that he wouldn’t be surprised if she clammed up.

 

“Because I need to.” Her weariness echoed in his chest. “I had no choice when I was younger. No child of Aerys Targaryen ever told him no. Then Rhaegar needed me to while he was building up his designs. And now I do it because I have to. House Targaryen will fall without it. I’m not as talented as Rhaegar was, so I compensate where I can.”

 

She had no idea just how bloody brilliant she was and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, not at all sure how to express it, make her believe. “I highly doubt you need to compensate for anythin’.”

 

Fingers tugged at his shirt. “For a man of few words, you sure do say some nice things.” Another silence enveloped them before she shifted, alerting him that she was going to say something more. “And I guess now, I don’t _hate_ it. There’s almost an escape that it allows me. When I’m out there, I’m no longer Daenerys Targaryen, but the Dragon Queen, confident and edgy and maybe just a little bit mean.”

 

He understood what she meant, the knowledge making him sad that she ever felt an ounce of the unbalance of being uncomfortable with who she was, something he had struggled with so much of his life. “After being introduced to both, I like Daenerys better.”

 

“Jon—“ blue eyes peeked up at him shiny with emotion. “I’m not telling you this so that you give me some sort of compliment or—“

 

He cut her off by dragging her up the length of his body, craning his neck up to meet her, silencing her by closing his mouth over hers. She melted into his chest with a sigh, lips soft and plump moving with his, doing his best to explain like _this_ that she should never doubt herself.

 

Eyes still closed, he cupped the back of her head, silky hair beneath his fingers, mingled breath in the small space between them. “I know.”

 

She settled back down onto him and he sighed, craving to keep the moment like this where they were both soft, exposing tender spots to each other, wanting to learn that as well as he was learning her body, or better, the consistent ticks of his watch counting the passing time.

 

“Did you know you’ve already hit the tabloids with me?” There was a wariness in her voice, as if the discovery would push him away.

 

“Aye.” Remembering Robb throwing the glossy paper at him, a hand sliding over her hip as he wondered if she was testing him, see if she could push him into running. “It’s a good picture of us.”

 

Those eyebrows furrowed in surprise and he couldn't help but laugh, the confusion of his reaction written on that pretty face. “What? I’m not supposed to notice that?”

 

“You are supposed to feel awkward and violated.” Her mouth turned down in a pout and he couldn’t resist dabbing at her bottom lip with his thumb. “You’re not used to it and because of me, they’ll be digging into you.”

 

“We were standin’ in front of everyone.” He had to pretend to remain unaffected at her words, at the thought at everyone shifting through his life, judging his choices. “My Night’s Watch background is mostly sealed. They won’t find most of it.” With a pang, he realized he was missing a step, her own insecurities coming to the surface. “Let them talk, Dany. They won’t get to see this, the you and me layin’ on the couch reliving our shit lives.”

 

That pulled a huff of air from her, an almost laugh and he still counted it as a good thing. “It’ll probably get worse.”

 

“I’ll try and keep my hands off you in public. Let them weave their stories.”

 

“Mmm, the mysterious man. It suits you.”

 

His wink finally pulled out a laugh from her, the light sound filling his chest to almost over capacity, her eyes bright as her body shook against him. Gods, he liked seeing her like that, some of the worry slipping from her face as she shook her head before finally quieting back down.

 

“It could have been worse, they could have gotten a picture of us last night.”

 

“Oh _Gods._ ” Her face turned a brilliant shade of red behind her hand. “Tyrion would have _killed_ me if we’d been pap’d in the car while I was giving you a blow job.”

 

The laugh that had been building finally burst forth, loud and rusty, so long unused that it almost startled him and getting even louder as she glared at him from behind spread fingers. “You and your dirty mind. I meant at dinner or the range. But now that you mention it…”

 

He trailed off letting her say a few choice dirty words to him that were definitely not done in prelude to sex and he grabbed at her hand, utterly delighted by her, knowing he was so fucking done for that it should terrify him.

 

It didn’t.

 

She settled back down against him with a grumble and he didn’t miss the fact she was fighting a smile, his hand cupping the back of her neck to feel her close, letting them wind back down

 

“Jon?”

 

Making a noise for an answer, he watched her face change, cheeks start to flush— his body reacting with heat at the sight— her eyelashes lower shyly and he ignored the lust brewing low, trying to figure what was making her fidget like she was nervous.

 

“Nevermind— Are you done working for the night?”

 

“Aye.” He rubbed his chin over the top of her head, pretended he didn’t notice that whatever she was going to ask, she changed her mind and told himself it was no big deal, that his curiosity wasn’t peaked. “Or at least with security.”

 

And finally he knew they were there, that grudgingly, he needed to prepare himself to ruin their peace, hating to do it, but not wanting to put it off any longer and let it fester. He probably should have already told her instead of selfishly soaking up the moments of peace with her. “Robb and Viserys will be back tomorrow night.”

 

The big shuddering breath she took made his chest ache. “Well, it’s good that he won’t miss the ceremony.”

 

Gods, she deserved so much more than her awful brother.

 

“I want to ask you some questions and I promise it will make sense and I’ll explain it—“ he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. “I just have to see if I can get it to fall into place in my head.”

 

“Ask me, Jon.” Tension filled her body, that lovely tranquility disappearing and he rubbed his hand up her back, hoping to soothe.

 

“Those factories in Astapor—“ he stopped to clear his throat, scrub his hand over his face, try and figure out his wording. “How could they produce a product and it not be noticed?”

 

Sharp elbows in his ribs made him grunt as she scrambled to prop herself up on his chest, eyes flashing with anger. “What do you mean?”

 

He was not doing this right. Shifting so he could look at her easier, he tucked loose hair behind her ear, despising every moment of this, needing to drag her through it to end to her torment. “How would product be sold and not noticed?”

 

She blew out a breath. “It shouldn’t be.”

 

That’s what he thought, even though he really was clueless about that end of business. He should have talked more with Tyrion before laying it all out in such a messy way. “Those companies are owned by a shell corporation that has been loosely tied to Baelish. And we think if he’s involved ...”

 

Her body when rigid, muscles drawing tight as her voice settled over him like ice. “Then Viserys is also.”

  


~*~*~

  


She rocketed to her feet, rage and disbelief simmering through her, so completely derailed from the sweetness of the evening that she felt a sting of petulance, the unfairness of it all threatening to make her fifteen years old all over again. Jon tried to reach for her, tried to placate, to soothe, but she shook him off, comfort the furthest thing from her mind.

 

Her own brother... The betrayal was _almost_ the worst part, second only to the horror of actual human suffering that his actions had caused. For her own flesh and blood to actively seek to harm someone, anyone else, felt like a stab through the heart, the pain of it rippling through her.

 

Agony.

 

She just couldn’t understand _why_ . Had his own cruelty driven him to a point where he needed more, or was it something else? Something that his clouded mind had deemed a necessity, some plan formulated in a manic high? Even then, if that was his excuse, then what in the seven hells had _Baelish_ been doing? "I need to talk to Tyrion, we have to shut it down. Find a way to make this right."

 

"He's working on it. We both are. It's complicated."

 

"Children are dying, Jon. I know how this business works."

 

_Oh gods_ , _Missandei_.

 

She had to tell her, _now,_ before it reached her ears any other way. She had only agreed to continue to work with Dany with the absolute understanding that Rhaegar’s death had changed nothing in the beliefs of House Targaryen, that Dany would give her a platform to pursue her own agendas, to give her the resources to fight the darkness that had stolen her childhood, her brother, her own innocence, and now?

 

Dany’s stomach rolled treacherously as she paced across the floor, and for a moment she truly thought she might vomit. She had failed, utterly, in every way. And tomorrow night, House Targaryen would be rewarded for a lie.

 

Jon’s hand caught her own, snapping her back to him, the concern in his eyes a lifeline that she latched onto, her breathing shallow and uneven. “Dany, hey— sit back down.”

 

His pull was gentle, but insistent, and a glass of water materialized out of nowhere, nudged into stiff fingers. She shook her head slowly, struggling to get air into her lungs. _Gods, did the air conditioning in this house just not work anywhere anymore?_ The heat was stifling, the oppressiveness of it making it hard to think. Her mind railed against the idea of it all— still too large and vague of a horror to fully wrap around. And if she was so affected, then Rhaegar must be rolling in his grave.

 

“I need Tyrion, and Missandei. I need to see the fiscal earnings, try to figure out how we could have missed this. We have to call the Board, we have to find a way to oust him and Baelish. I can’t look the other way on this. I should call the authorities in Astapor, the Better Business Bu—“

 

“Dany,” Jon’s voice was sharp, calloused fingers taking her face in his hands. “Breathe. I need for you to breathe.”

 

Her fingers clenched around the water glass, her other hand grabbing onto his wrist to try to ground herself, squeezing, painfully, if the contortions on his face were any indication. “I just—“

 

“I know.” A thumb dashed under her eye, gathering a tear she hadn’t even known she had shed. “Drink that and I’ll call Tyrion. We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

 

His eyes searched hers, silently begging her to stay with him, to not give into the panic she could feel building in her chest. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before he went to pick up the phone on her desk, his dark eyes watching her, ever vigilant, and she felt another stab of guilt at the gesture. Yet another soft moment ruined by her fuck-ups, by her cowardice.

 

She should have been able to see this coming. She had known Viserys was unstable, had always known his capacity for cruelty, but instead of addressing it, she had let it continue for years, certain that he wasn’t capable of hurting anyone.

 

No one but her.

 

Was this why someone was hunting her? Was this her punishment for being unable to see the truth? For protecting someone who didn’t deserve it instead of innocents? If so, she had to concede they had a point. What use was money and power if she was unable or unwilling to use it to make the world into something better, brighter?

 

“Tyrion’s wrapping up something in his office and will find Missandei.”

 

“Don’t let him tell her,” the panicked words fell from her throat in a scramble. “She should hear it from me first. She deserves that, at the very least.”

 

“He won’t.”

 

She nodded wordlessly in thanks as he settled next to her again, a rough hand finding her back, making its way under her shirt to rub up and down her spine, every pass making her vibrate with confusion and barely controlled rage. She just couldn’t make herself understand how anyone could do something like this. "When is Vis back?"

 

“Robb said their flight gets in early tomorrow evening.”

 

"I'm going to need to speak to him. If the Board agrees to replace him as CEO then he’ll need to hear it from me, Targaryen to Targaryen."

 

Jon’s hand froze, gripping her neck for a moment before he forced his fingers to relax. "Dany, there’s gotta be someone else who can handle that. If you tip him off, then who knows what—“ He stopped himself, no doubt responding to the stubborn set of her chin and changed tack. “This is a chance, we can find a way to use this to our advantage. We have to take it."

 

She stared up at him, deeply understanding the flare of fear and worry in his eyes, the hope that this might be the beginning of the end, but at what cost? She knew that deep down he admired her, what she stood for— all of his careful questions about the kids she was already responsible for confirmed that, but his own fear was choking him, cutting off the line of reason that normally held him so steadfast. If she was brave enough, she could look more closely at that fear, take heart in him, in the depth of emotion in his eyes.

 

She longed to, she did. She would have given anything to be normal in this moment, to let him sway her into taking the easy path— but she couldn’t. "I can't do that, Jon. And you know it."

 

His shoulders fell, his hands, usually so warm, dropping from her back. "I was afraid you were going to say something like that."

 

"You can come this time."

 

"I wasn't going to give you an option." Something deadly crept into his tone, that dangerous quality he tried to keep hidden from her, but she knew it was there, lying under the surface of him— a wolf trying to protect his pack.

 

"You’ll need backup, just in case. Robb should also be there when I do it— everyone else on standby.” There was no telling how he might react to such news, and if he’d been using while in Dorne? The possibility for danger and volatility would be endless. “Viserys is a snake, and will strike when cornered."

 

Jon's sigh was deep. "I'll handle it."

 

"In the meantime, someone should take his phone. Tell him it’s software updates, malware, something. That should buy us some time. Hopefully."

 

"We can find another way." There was a pleading tone to his voice, but all she could hear was the pitiful cries and screams of children in her ears.

 

"This is the way."

 

~*~*~

 

_Ziry - She (Elle)_

  
  


 

 


	9. Day will make the way for night, all we need is candlelight, and a song soft and long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strength.
> 
> Fire in her eyes.
> 
> That was what she needed to face him. No matter what Viserys said, no matter how hard he pushed or threatened— cajoled, begged, pleaded, apologized or any other number of the myriad of manipulations he had at his disposal.
> 
> No. This time she was prepared, and with Jon beside her, protected. Vis may have been used to seeing tears in her eyes, but this time, he would see only flames, no matter what. She would not fail. She was the blood of the dragon, and although Viserys had often threatened her with the fear of waking the dragon inside of him, she was beginning to realize that his was nothing compared to hers.
> 
> _Let them both wake, and we’ll see who wins in the end._
> 
> He had everything to lose, and she had everything to fight for. And she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always— all of our thanks and then some to Alice for betaing this chapter. She keeps us on the path, y’all, and it is no easy task, let me tell you what!
> 
> To JW— her moodboards always give us LIFE, and this one is no exception (also, brief shout out to my hubs and his hand modeling!!! And for not asking too many questions about how and why I needed a picture with 2 people holding 1 phone. I married Scott Lang, y’all, and he’s a gem). JW— you are so talented and never even seem to blink at what we throw you. Thank you for the encouragement, the hand-holding, and general positivity.
> 
> To Mel— When I say I can’t tell this story without you, I mean it with my whole heart. I love how it seems as if we each hold a half of it in our own hearts, and the other half resides with the other, and in these characters. They truly are _ours_ now, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love you, my friend. ❤️

 

**Trigger warnings: mentions of child slavery, verbal abuse, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of/and implied sexual assault, drug and substance abuse. Vis isn’t going down without a fight.**

 

~*~*~

 

She sent Jon and Tyrion from the room as soon as Missandei arrived, not wanting either of them to bear witness to her shame, or to put her best friend on display as she shattered her world and made a mockery of everything she thought they had stood for.

 

“Are you all right?” Missandei was breathless, no doubt having rushed here at Tyrion’s call.

 

Dany could feel her face crumbling even as Dei hurried to her side, her strong arms wrapping her up in a hug. Dany let herself be comforted for only a moment, breathing in the light scent of Dei’s jasmine perfume, taking some small comfort in her best friend before she pulled away and dashed the back of her hand under her eyes.

 

“It’s not me.” She found that she couldn’t maintain eye contact with Missandei for more than a few seconds at a time, the guilt coursing through her threatening to overwhelm her before she even began.

 

“What then?” Dei’s hands gently cupped her face, forcing Dany to meet her eyes, the concern in the golden depths making her breath hitch against the spiral of shame. “Did something happen with Jon?”

 

Dany shook her head, “No, that’s still…” she trailed off, unable to admit, even to her best friend, the sudden realization that she was in over her head with no experience to guide her. Words that normally came so easily to her stuck to the roof of her mouth with doubt and uncertainty, lost at sea and allowing her fear to get the better of her once more. 

 

“Than what?” Dei took her hands in hers. “Gods, your fingers are ice cold. Let me send for some tea—“

 

“No.” Dany gripped her hands tightly, taking a deep breath. “No, it’s not me, it’s not Jon, everything here is—“ she stumbled over the word  _ fine _ before it could fall from her lips. Nothing about this was  _ fine _ , in fact, it was quite the opposite— one of the worst possible things she could imagine, something so horrendous that the mere thought of it turned her stomach. The idea that her brother could be involved in something so vile made her feel as if she might vomit at any moment, the fact that he had involved the company their family had built with blood, sweat, and tears, and stood behind for generations in the mire and muck of such horrific practices abhorrent to her in every way. 

 

“Dany, what is it? It might help to just spit it out.”

 

Dany shook her head, squeezing Dei’s hand. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

 

She could see the moment it sunk in, the shadow that passed over her best friend’s eyes, the lingering fear that had retreated over the years blazing back to life, visions of a past that had done its best to haunt and destroy, returning. “Just say it.”

 

Dany nodded, squeezing Dei’s slim hands once more. “Before I say it, I want you to know that we will find a way to stop it. I promise you that.”

 

Missandei was watching her warily, her own hands gone cold in Dany’s grip. “All right.”

 

She took one deep, shuddering breath. “Viserys has done something terrible.”

 

Dei snorted. “That’s not news, Dany. He’s always up to something awful.”

 

She couldn’t help the sting of the words settling across her skin, words of defense already rising in her throat before she fought them back down. He  _ was _ always up to something awful. It was time to face the truth— to look at the evil inside of her brother head on, to no longer be willing to hide behind the ever thinning veneer of family loyalty. “It’s worse than... any of that.” 

 

_ Any of that… _ She knew she was diminishing all of his hatefulness, that she still wasn’t truly allowing herself to look on the face of his deceit and abuse, but that was something to examine later— after this monumental task lay behind them, dealt with successfully, children returned to their homes and into the arms of their loving parents.

 

“Well, what is it?”

 

“Did Tyrion tell you anything about my interview with the Watch?”

 

“Only that it went horribly.”

 

Dany nodded, squeezing Dei’s hands again before diving in, allowing the deep water to close over her head, hoping neither of them would drown in the process. “The Watch found some factories outside Astapor, said they belonged to House Targaryen.”

 

“That’s nonsense.” Dany said nothing in reply, only looked deeply into Dei’s golden eyes, willing her to follow along, to catch on faster than she had. “Unless, it’s not?”

 

Dany bit her lip, nodding. “Apparently it’s not. I’ve had Tyrion do some digging. While House Targaryen doesn’t  _ seem _ to have any direct involvement, there is a company that is tied to them that can be traced back to Baelish.”

 

“Are they sweatshops?”

 

She wouldn’t lie to her, wouldn’t diminish their bond and friendship by insulting her, by telling her there was still so much they didn't know, truly. “Yes.”

 

“Children?”

 

Dany swallowed tightly. “Yes.”

 

“Has anyone died yet?”

 

“I don’t know. Tyrion has a PI there investigating, but you know better than anyone how likely that is.”

 

Dei was quiet, her golden eyes closed against the pain. Dany sat quietly, gripping her hands in her own, wanting Dei to know that she was here, by her side, no matter what.

 

“What’s our plan?”

 

She felt the rush of tears in her eyes, her gratefulness sweeping in like a summer storm. The world went blurry around her as a breath shuddered out of her, hands squeezing Dei’s in wordless thanks. To know that Dei wouldn’t turn away, that she would dig deep and find a way to stand and fight with her, that they would face this together meant more than words could express. “That’s what we need to come up with now. I have to find a way to oust Viserys, and take control of House Targaryen. Once I’ve done that, then we can shut down the factories for good, and make sure that no one in this company ever commits this level of evil again.”

 

“This company...” Dei’s voice was low, furious. 

 

Dany could feel her fury, tightly bridled for the moment, surging— her voice cracking with urgency. “We change what we can first. The world comes next. I’m not done fighting, and neither are you. We can stop this— we  _ will _ stop this, Missandei. I promise.”

 

“I’ll hold you to that.” There was a storm brewing in Dei’s eyes, a rolling thunderclap of rage within her threatening to break free at the slightest provocation. Dany found that she was glad to see it. They would both need that strength and power in the coming days— anything to bolster the other for the hard work ahead of them.

 

“I know.” She squeezed her hand once more. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Let’s get to work.”

 

~*~*~

 

“Something Slynt said still strikes me as odd.” Dany looked up from poring over the reports from Tyrion’s private investigator, the group of them gathered around the coffee table in her study. Tyrion had commandeered her desk immediately, needing a place for his laptop and close to a phone, Jon settling on the sofa behind her, his knee pressed against her shoulder as she leaned back from her place on the floor, Dei sprawled out across from her.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“He asked if I knew House Targaryen’s current financial status. Why would he ask that?”

 

She could hear Tyrion’s brain working from here, the five feet of distance between them not enough to dampen the man’s mental energy and acuity. “He wouldn’t, unless he was trying to figure out some sort of motive. Tell me again what he said?”

 

Dany leaned back, resting her head on the couch cushion, catching Jon’s eye. “You may have to help with this— I was a little heated by that point.”

 

Jon nodded, thinking for a moment in the growing quiet. “He was treatin’ Dany like a suspect, not like someone who had received multiple death threats.”

 

“He’s a misogynistic prick.”

 

Jon nodded again, his agreement apparent. “But, if he were buildin’ some sort of case around the fact that this was a ploy for attention, somethin’ to bolster House Targaryen,  _ especially _ if he knew the business was failing…”

 

“He did ask about the life insurance policy on Vis and me. If something were to happen to me, Vis would come into a lot of money.” Her stomach turned over again at the thought that maybe Vis really  _ was  _ behind all this horror. Jon’s lips thinned as they pressed together into a grey line. “Tyrion, can you get the financials? The  _ real _ financials without Baelish or his team getting wind of it?”

 

“It may take me a few days, but yes.”

 

“You have until tomorrow morning.” Dany was done waiting, the knowledge that every second wasted might mean another life lost.

 

They had spoken to Tyrion’s investigator, Bronn, as soon as they had all convened, hoping they could call the authorities, or any of the unions across the Free Cities to go in and shut the factories down on a technicality. Dany was willing to risk exposure if it meant immediate action, however Bronn had insisted that the authorities in the area were already well aware of just what exactly was going on within the walls of the factories, and had chosen to “look the other way”. Baelish had no doubt greased their palms substantially. 

 

They’d hit the same roadblock with the unions, Viserys’ reach farther and more all encompassing than Dany had thought possible. Baelish’s influence as well, no doubt. Which had led them back to the original plan. 

 

Vis had always been a shit cyvasse player— no patience. And while he may have stumbled on to someone who was much more advanced and strategic in the form of Baelish, neither of them had ever truly seen what Dany could do if she unleashed herself upon them and the world.

 

And she had no intention of showing them until she could see the whites of their eyes.

 

“Dei, I need to be on the call schedule of every Board member tomorrow— we’ll have a mountain of work to get through before Vis gets back. Make it about whatever appeals to them most to get them on the call, but none of the reasons should be the same. If we can get the financials, and if we can prove that House Targaryen is in the red, then a change in leadership is to be expected. If I remain as designer, the brand will remain intact, so it’s more about framing it as new leadership to match the creative vision than a true ousting.”

 

“And if the financials are fine?” Tyrion’s voice rang out behind her, a hint of petulance there that she would have to examine later.

 

“Then we’ll have to come up with another plan,” she snapped, rubbing her forehead, trying not to let herself be distracted by the feel of Jon’s fingers running through the ends of her hair, his touch both gentling her and making her aware of how tightly wound she was.

 

Quiet descended upon them again. 

 

“Why is Viserys in Dorne again?” Dei’s question was deceptively light.

 

Dany shrugged, “Seven hells if I know. I know he’s been drinking again, so I would imagine it’s only a matter of time before he reverts to the rest of his bad habits, if he hasn’t done so already…” Her voice trailed off as she looked to Dei, her golden eyes shining brightly, an idea obviously on the tip of her tongue.

 

“It’s a shame he’s there all by himself with no one around to observe his behavior…”

 

Dany was up before Dei had even finished her thought, kneeling next to Jon on the sofa, doing her best to remain focused, to not be distracted by the tired lines around his deep brown eyes, the flush of color blooming high on his cheeks as she pressed into his space. “Has Robb said anything about what Vis has been up to?”

 

Jon shook his head slowly, an imperceptible look passing over his face. “Not really,” he hedged.

 

“But he’s staying in the same suite, right? I doubt Vis would let him get too far from him, and if he’s using again…”

 

“Dany…” Jon’s voice was tight, his hand clenching and unclenching against her knee.

 

“He was never subtle about his drug use when he was here— I doubt he would be in Dorne where things are looser. If Robb could just take a couple of pictures—”

 

“No.”

 

She jerked back as if splashed with cold water, his flat denial reverberating in her chest. “No, as in Vis hasn’t been up to anything? Or—“

 

“No, as in I won’t ask Robb to do that. We’re here to  _ protect, _ Dany, not spy.”

 

She felt the ire in his tone, the storm in his eyes blazing, found herself back pedaling ever so slightly as her face went red, his anger directed at her for the first time throwing her for a loop. “I know that, I was just trying to—“

 

“How would you feel if Robb asked me to do that to you on Viserys’ behalf?”

 

Her mouth snapped shut mid-protest.  _ Horrible. Angry. Violated. _ “You’re right,” she said softly.

 

His eyes searched hers, desperate for her to understand. “I’m here to help, I am, but you can’t ask me to do somethin’ like that.”

 

“I said you’re right, Jon.” She shrank back from him, her arms going around her middle, the pit in the bottom of her stomach growing as she chewed on her bottom lip, thinking. “Do you have another PI, Tyrion?”

 

“Not one that could get to Dorne before they’re due back, I’m afraid.”

 

She risked a look back to Jon, an eyebrow raised in question. “Do you know anyone?”

 

Jon sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand down his face roughly. “Even if I did it would be a conflict of interest, but for what it’s worth— no. I don’t and neither does Stark Security.”

 

Dany nodded, shifting back to the floor, her eyes flitting to Dei. “All right, then we’ll have to think of something else that he’s done. Something else that mires the name of House Targaryen and risks exposure. Some other scandal that we can use as leverage to get the Board on our side.”

 

“It’s late, maybe if we sleep on it…”

 

Dany sighed, leaning her head back against the couch cushion, not looking forward to another sleepless night full of tossing and turning as her brain tried to figure out a solution. “Fine. I’m open to suggestions though.” She reached for her glass of water, hoping to cool her heated face, Jon’s displeasure and disappointment still thrumming through her uncomfortably. “Tyrion, as soon as new leadership is in place though, I want a plan of action ready to be launched immediately for safely shutting down those factories and getting those people out of there.”

 

“What about the award?” The air rang with Dei’s question.

 

“What about it?”

 

“Are you still accepting it?” Dany’s stomach rolled again, the guilt crashing against what was expected of her. She wanted nothing more than to cancel the entire evening, to not have to face a night of lying, and accepting an award for the very things that she and Rhaegar had fought against, something that until a few hours ago she had been sure was true. But now… which was worse? To make a hypocrite of herself and everything she thought her family had stood for, or to embrace the safety the lie offered and try to repair the damage quietly, behind the scenes?

 

Tyrion closed the laptop with an air of finality. “She has to accept the award. If she doesn’t it would raise too many questions. We’re going, she’ll accept, and then we’ll figure the rest of this out.”

 

Missandei said nothing, obviously unwilling to absolve her of her responsibility. Jon shifted uncomfortably behind her. “What do you think?” She asked, dully. 

 

He said nothing for a moment, his brow furrowing as he thought. “From a security perspective, I would prefer none of us go to the ceremony at all.”

 

Dany rubbed her forehead, her headache growing with every moment, every new problem and facet of this nightmare. “Tyrion’s right, we can’t not go, as much as I don’t want to.” She couldn’t look at Dei or Jon, the knowledge that she was disappointing them both gnawing at her insides.

 

“Something else to sleep on, I guess.” Missandei’s voice held a caustic note, her anger seeping out.

 

“What do you want me to do, Dei? Tell me, and I’ll do it.”

 

“I want you to make your own fucking choice.” With that, she stood, sweeping from the room without so much as a backward glance at any of them, Tyrion’s gasp of surprise the only sound echoing in the cavernous silence that followed.

 

“Maybe if I talk to her—“

 

“Don’t,” Dany bit out, her own frustration a rolling wave threatening to drown them all. “Just— just leave her alone. I’ll speak to her again in the morning. She may be right. Maybe there’s another path. I just need to find it.”

 

Tyrion pursed his lips, no doubt some fanciful phrasing on the tip of his tongue, but one warning look from her had him gathering his laptop and files and scurrying out the door, leaving her alone with Jon. She huffed out a breath, leaning her head back against the cushion, closing her eyes against the harsh glare of the overhead light.

 

“It’s late,” his voice was subdued. “We should get to bed.”

 

“Am I missing something?” Only his silence met her question. “I feel like the solution is staring me in the face, just waiting to be discovered, but for the life of me, I can’t find it. I feel like I’m just stumbling around, alone in the dark.”

 

There was a pause before his tentative hand wound its way through her hair, rough fingertips raking against her scalp. “Not alone.” He cleared his throat before his hand abruptly vanished, the couch shifting behind her as he stood, all of their earlier peace scattered. “C’mon.”

 

She cracked an eyelid to find his offered hand, taking it and allowing him to pull her upright before hastily letting go, feeling off balance with him for the first time since before the fashion show, knowing her thoughtlessness had caused damage she wasn’t sure how to repair. She hadn’t felt this… lost since Rhaegar had died, the anger and disappointment clear on both his and Dei’s faces wounding her more deeply than she cared to admit.

 

Neither of them said a word as they cleared the study for the evening, making sure Tyrion hadn’t left any of the documents behind for prying eyes, and locking up anything questionable in her desk drawer before they closed the door behind them and made their way to the staircase.

 

His hand found the small of her back as they made their way to their rooms, this trip so different than the night before, anticipation and need driving their every step then, something like doom and reticence driving them now. She found herself retreating behind the protective walls in her own mind, sure that she had done more harm than good in the past few hours, and was at an absolute loss as to how to fix it, how to bridge the gap that had appeared between them and felt like it was widening with every silent step.

 

She leaned heavily against the wall as he cleared her room, waiting for him to motion her forward before she stepped inside, wanting nothing more than to burrow into his chest, to feel his arms wrapping around her, his strength and assurance seeping through to the marrow of her bones. Instead, his arms hung limply at his sides, and she folded her arms across her middle, staring down at the top of her shoes until she felt his fingers under her chin, tapping until she lifted her head to look him in the eyes.

 

“You ok?”

 

She didn’t know how to answer that question. Of course she wasn’t. But she couldn’t very well admit that to him, here and now, not when she could still see the displeasure in his eyes, something that would selfishly haunt her almost as much as the rest of the awfulness, all mixing into a swirl of overpowering guilt within her. “I just need a shower. I’ll be alright.”

 

He didn’t believe her, hurt now stirring in the depths as he dropped his hands to her shoulders, rubbing up and down her arms. “Wanna join me in mine?”

 

_ Gods, he was trying to murder her.  _ How could he still be standing there with her, attempting to comfort her when he must be livid with her— she honestly didn’t understand. She had expected a lecture at the very least. “As much as I would love that, I don’t think you want to deal with the hair dye.”

 

“I thought you said a couple days?”

 

“It’s a rinse, it’ll be gone by the ceremony. I’ll be quick.” She wanted to go up on her toes, cup his face, press a light kiss to his lips, but she didn’t, allowing his hands to fall away from her shoulders, the pit in her stomach growing as he stepped away and shut her bedroom door. She huffed out a breath, locking it behind him before scurrying to the bathroom, shutting herself away before he could come through their adjoined door and press the issue, his anger and hurt sure to bubble over her soon.

 

She turned on the water before stripping out of her clothes, stepping inside and letting the water pour over her, the heat finally relaxing shoulders that had been stuck up around her ears for hours now.  _ Gods _ , she was a coward in every way. Running from every problem that had been presented to her until her horror had literally become too much to bear, and now she had to find a way to stand resolutely with her knees knocking together like a child brought before the principal for the first time.

 

What on earth was she going to do? She knew that none of this was truly her fault, that she had done nothing to contribute to the suffering of these children, the families that had been torn apart, but it didn’t absolve her of her responsibility. She had known what her brother was capable of his entire life, how his viciousness had grown throughout the years into something volatile and dangerous. But, instead of acting, instead of taking responsibility— she had done what she had always done best. Retreated, hidden herself away, buried herself in her sketches, or Rhaegar’s Harp, telling herself— lying to herself, she must tell the truth now— that she was doing all she could.

 

She had been at a loss as to how to help every maid that had ever left the same room as Viserys with red rimmed eyes, uniforms wrinkled and unkempt, something she hadn’t understood as a teenager, and had allowed Tyrion to fire staff member after staff member that had ever dared cross him. Once she was older, she and Tyrion had worked together to try to help as best they could, keeping the lavish severance packages a secret from Viserys, his rage becoming more and more prominent throughout the years, his trigger quick. It wasn’t enough— would never be enough— but she had tried as best she could. Likely failing more often than she succeeded.

 

It wasn’t until he had threatened Jon that she had found the fire needed within to stand up to him, and that had been more for her own benefit than anything else. How could she claim to be this paragon of change and goodness when she was nothing more than a spineless bystander, allowing such darkness to surround and overtake her at every turn.

 

She had hidden herself away from anything questionable, forced herself to look past hurts and wounds, even at her own expense, convinced that if she could just find a way to help her brother that the rest would take care of itself in turn.

 

She was despicable, her breath starting to come in shorter and shorter gasps until she found herself crouched on the shower floor, a flood of memories pouring over her, every bruise, every strike, every vicious word and neglected hurt parading through her mind. She had never been alone, and yet she never allowed herself to truly see the rest of the suffering of those around her— those with no voices and no chance of being able to stand up for themselves.

 

And she was doing it again now— asking Jon to take the risk, to get Robb involved in something they had no business being involved in. She had created this monster, and it was her job to defeat him.

 

And if she wouldn’t ask others to do her dirty work for her anymore, that left only one option… Her mind started to whirl with the possibilities. She could ask Tyrion for the records of every maid that had been fired in the last five years, she  _ could _ ask Doreah some pointed questions to test the waters, but that would be hypocritical in every sense. How could she ask other women to come forward if she never had? How could she ask other women to face their trauma at the hands of her brother if she was unwilling to do so herself?

 

No, it had to begin with her. And so it would.

 

Decision made, she forced herself to her feet, taking a steadying breath as she quickly washed her hair and lathered her tired body, watching as the stream of water ran dark with hair dye for a few moments, logistics swirling in her mind.

 

She’d need all of Missandei’s photos through the years, all of the medical records. Her broken ribs, concussion, and fractured wrist from after Rhaegar’s funeral, the last time Viserys had truly unleashed the dragon upon her until the confrontation a few weeks before, but there had been others— more subtle, more insidious. The bruises on her inner arms when he had gripped her too hard, the harsh pinches to her waist and sides when she had gotten red carpet interview questions incorrect, the mere fact that Irri had needed to concoct cover-up so strong that it would mask injuries so perfectly.

 

She had given her a raise for that one.

 

Dany slapped at the water to turn it off, pulling a towel around her, dragging another through her hair, now some mottled brown color— much lighter than it had been— as she let herself out of the bathroom and into her room. She had to tell Jon, needed to let him know that she had found another way, and then maybe that would lift the sudden shadow that had fallen over them. Maybe then he would forgive her for her thoughtlessness, for putting him and his own brother in the middle of what should have been her fight all along.

 

She would make it up to him, she would— she would earn back that look in his eyes that engulfed her in flame, that look that promised her the world, that look that had shone in his eyes when Davos had hugged her, his own good heart offered to her on a platter.

 

The door between their rooms stood open, and she stepped through, his bathroom door also open, allowing the steam of his shower to roll through the room, the humidity engulfing her. She glanced at the bed they had shared for the past three nights, the happiness he had brought to her there, and everywhere— really, and was determined to find a way to do the same for him.

 

One of his shirts was laid out on the bed, no doubt ready for him to slip into after his shower, but with a quick twist she let her own towel drop to the floor and slipped the shirt over her head, letting the woodsy scent of him settle her rapidly beating heart as she gathered her courage and let herself into his bathroom. 

 

He spotted her immediately, his eyes tracking her as she hoisted herself up onto his counter, crossing her legs and grabbing a towel to hand to him when he was finished. He didn’t say anything, just turned to rinse the shampoo from his hair, strong hands running through his curls. “Feelin’ any better?”

 

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I think at this point it’s all relative.” A beat of silence filled the space between them, and she forced herself to keep going, to keep trying to put one foot in front of the other to bridge the gap between them. “But, I’m getting there.”

 

The water shut off, and Jon shook his head, water droplets coating the inside of the glass, cutting tracks down the shower door, tantalizing strips of skin becoming visible through the condensation. “How are you?” Her voice cracked with the question, bracing herself for the onslaught she was sure was coming, knowing she would just have to bear up under it, allow him to say what he needed to say before she could try to clear the air between them.

 

The door cracked open, and he reached for the towel, his fingers brushing against hers as she handed it to him. She bit her lip against the sudden flare of desire coursing through her, his beautiful, naked body on full display as he raked the towel through his hair, stepping out onto the bathmat. “I don’t know.”

 

Her heart plummeted somewhere around her ankles, her mouth opening to apologize, to force the words past wooden lips when he continued, wrapping the towel around his waist as he crossed to the counter beside her, both fists planted on either side of the sink. “I’m sorry I can’t go to Robb—“

 

She reached out to grip his wrist, his arm warm compared to her icy fingers, her hold so tight he looked to her in surprise. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t think and got swept up in the idea.”

 

He nodded, some of the ice in his gaze chipping away, his wrist turning in her grasp until his fingers wound with hers, squeezing tight. She felt a pull in her chest at the gesture, her heart snagging on the lifeline he had thrown her— thrown them really, rushing on before he could say anything. “I think I may have found another way.”

 

“What’s that?” Concern flew in, tired lines appearing around his eyes, his lips pursed tightly.

 

She took a deep breath, willing herself to be confident and brave— to not let him see the fear that threatened her every waking moment nowadays. It was hard to remember a time before it had become her constant companion. “Come forward with my story, what he did to me, has done for years.”

 

Jon’s face was pinched, his grip on her hand tightening painfully. “Usually in cases like this it becomes he said/she said, even if you had evidence.”

 

“I do.”

 

“You do what?” That furrow in his brow was back, the muscles in his back and shoulders bunching and releasing as he turned to her more fully, never releasing her fingers.

 

“I have evidence.” It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him everything, to paint him a picture of her life in vivid color— most of it red— but she thought they had been through enough for one night. “Missandei’s been cataloging my bruises for years. ‘To make sure Irri was prepared’ — I think in her own way, Dei has been waiting for this day to come around. We can cross reference the pictures with the medical records fairly easily.”

 

“Does that include today?” He was masking the horror with a joke, but she could see it in his eyes— the regret, the pain, the need to protect. She felt her heart contract in her chest painfully, but followed him down the path he had unwittingly laid out, praying to all the gods, old and new that he wouldn't leave her wanting and alone.

 

Her smile was small, inviting. “Oh, you mean all of these?” She reached for the hem of his shirt, moving slowly, giving him plenty of time to stop her if he wanted to, lifting it over her head. Her mottled hair tumbled down around her shoulders as she bared herself to him let him get a good, long look now that the makeup had been washed away.

 

His hand twitched in hers, the black of his pupils taking over the brown completely as he took her in, a groan escaping his lips before, “Gods, do you never wear underwear?”

 

A tiny giggle took her as he released her hand, moving directly in front of her, hands planted on either side of her ass, one thumb reaching up to trail along her thigh. “As little as possible.”

 

She hadn’t been trying to derail him, not truly, but she was tired of feeling beaten down and weak, willing to take whatever of himself he would offer to her. She ran her fingers up his arms and shoulders, up the nape of his neck, the corded muscle firm beneath her fingertips. Her thumbs swept over his beard and into his hair, pulling his head down to hers, pressing her lips to his, her tongue sweeping against them, silently pleading with him until his lips opened under hers. His hands grasped her waist and pulled her to the edge of the counter, fingers trailing down her legs to her knees, pulling her crossed legs apart and settling between them as his tongue stroked along hers, sliding, sweeping her back under his spell.

 

Strong thumbs stroked up the inside of her thighs as she pressed her breasts into his chest, nipples coming alive with the sensation of his scars dragging across them, a gasp leaving her parted lips as he glanced over her clit before continuing up over her belly, the underside of her breast cupped as he bent forward, leaning her back against the mirror. Soft and supple lips left her mouth, moving first to her cheek, and then down her neck, light nibbles, long licks, and languid kisses pressed to each bruise he had left, extra attention paid to those he hadn’t, painful reminders of their path to this point, her nipples rolled between forefingers and thumbs as stars burst behind her eyelids.

 

She tried to reach for the towel around his waist, nimble fingers hooked into the cloth and pulling him as close as the counter would allow before his hands left her breasts to grip her hands, fingers twining as he lifted their joined hands to either side of her head as his glorious mouth trailed fire down her clavicle and breastbone, tongue working between her breasts before he moved to suck her nipple into his mouth, teeth gently enclosed over the tip, pulling and laving with his tongue until her breast was peaked and red and shiny with his saliva.

 

She was starting to feel a resounding pulse within her empty, aching cunt as he switched to her other breast, one hand letting go of hers to trail lightly down her side, tweaking the unattended to nipple as he passed, shoving her thighs wider and  _ gods _ , she could smell herself, her own arousal heady and swirling around them both. He dipped careful fingers through her folds, outer lips already slick with want and he groaned against her breast, nipping hard enough to make her cry out as he gathered the wetness he found between her legs and carefully circled her nub, his fingers slippery already.

 

She shuddered against him, her breath starting to come in pants as he petted and teased, ready and waiting for the invasion of fingers, tongue, or cock, but none came, only gentle, lavish attentions. “Jon,” it was barely a word, more of a puff of breath whispered against the crown of his head, her fingers delving into his wet curls, the rest of his hair falling against her flushed chest as his talented fingers circled and pressed and worked her over as thoroughly and gently as she had ever been in her life.

 

Her heart pounded in her chest under his attentions, some unknown feeling expanding behind her ribs, a bubble of cautious joy that maybe,  _ maybe, _ they could find a way through this maze and mire, that she could be his, and he could be hers, forever.

 

“Jon,” a wave of need was rising within her, the need to hold him close, to let him bury himself as deep as he possibly could within her until she didn’t know where he ended and she began, a need to let him in, in every way. Her lips dropped to his ear, sucking his ear lobe into her mouth, her tongue swirling against it as his talented fingers continued their glorious torture, “Gods, I need you inside me.”

 

He shuddered, lifting himself from her chest to take her mouth in a bruising kiss, her fingers dropping to finally grapple with the towel, dropping it to the tile to take his thick cock in her waiting hands and stroke him firmly, to settle him at her entrance, primed and ready for him, one roll of his hips until he was home, lodged deep within her.

 

His grip on her wrist stopped her though, his ever diligent fingers working her over until she could feel her empty cunt fluttering, desperate for something to grab onto. “Almost,” he breathed against her lips, notching his cock just at her entrance, the pressure tantalizing and torturous. “I want you to let go, first.”

 

With that, he ducked his head to her breast once more, sucking her reddened, stiff peak deep into his mouth, his fingers continuing to circle her nub, pressing more deeply in the slick, his teeth settling into her once more, and she was gone, shuddering around him, her knees drawing up on either side of his chest when his hips snapped, and he seated himself deeply in her convulsing cunt in one go.

 

She wailed, the feeling of fullness overwhelming and wonderful as she arched her chest into him, her nails digging into his back as he pulled back and snapped his hips again, fucking her through her orgasm, her cunt greedily grabbing and taking what was hers.

 

There was a dizzying moment as he lifted her, her senses reeling until he slammed her into the wall with a groan, his hands under her ass as she locked her ankles around his waist, grinding herself down upon him, and then they were moving again, three strides to the bed and he laid her down, slipping out of her in a gush of wetness that left them both whimpering at the loss until he kissed her ankle and slung it over his shoulder, pushing back into her firmly, pumping in and out as he hovered above her, his eyes blazing and full of something she couldn’t identify, but gave herself over to anyway, a string of words leaving her mouth in a babble as he thrust so deeply inside she thought she might split in two— the pressure more wonderful that anything she had ever felt before.

 

His hands were on either side of her face, one cupping her cheek as he dove back down to capture her lips with his own. “Dany,” he breathed against her, some other words she couldn’t make out lost to their kisses, and she could feel herself tightening again, another orgasm close at hand as he reached between them, thumb hovering over her sensitive clit.

 

“Oh gods, Jon. So close.” She felt like she could barely breathe, a hitch in her chest as her nipples tightened further, and one more snap of his hips and she was coming, absolutely undone in every way, her leg falling from his shoulder as she cried out, burying her face in his neck as she shattered around him, his own strangled groan following after a few more wild thrusts, and then he collapsed against her, his breath warm and humid against her neck, his cock still lodged within her.

 

He took a few bracing breaths before he lifted himself onto his elbow, his eyes soft and warm as he kissed her, her heart full to the brim, just as he filled her.

They stayed that way for as long as they could, the ticks of his watch on her wrist the only way of marking the passage of time, her fingers combing through his curls until they dried. For a moment she thought he had fallen asleep, crashed into her chest, but after a while, he pressed a kiss to her clavicle before pulling out of her with a wince.

 

He heaved himself over to the side, the distance crashing back between them as they came back down to reality.

 

She cast about wildly, trying to think of something, anything to keep the chasm from swallowing her whole. “Is there anything I can do to make the next couple of days easier on you?”

 

“Not go to the ceremony?”

 

She turned onto her side, propping her head up on her hand as she studied him. He was worried, she could see it, plain as day. “How about if I promise to make this the last event until this is all over?”

 

She meant until this madman was caught and put away; she meant until the situation with Vis had settled, but she could see the subtle flinch in his eyes, the flare of uncertainty that tugged at her heart, begging her tongue to loosen its stubborn knot, to push past the cowardice holding her hostage, but she didn’t know  _ how,  _ and every time she opened her mouth nothing but a gaping silence passed her lips.

 

She kissed him then, hoping that he could see through her silence, her fingers threading into his hair as she pushed herself into his space, willing his suddenly wooden arms to encircle her, draw her in, find that warmth, that certainty they both craved in the physical, if not the emotional. For now.

 

She pulled back, her eyes searching his, his hands coming up to cup her face, making her feel seen and captured. Her heart stuttered in her chest at the sincerity in his eyes. “We should get some rest,” his voice was low, thumbs sweeping across her cheekbones as her eyelashes fluttered shut, feeling the pull of exhaustion, but afraid to let her eyes close, fearful of what her mind may conjure for her in her dreams tonight.

 

“I’m sorry if I wake you up in a few hours. I promise I do try to wake myself up from the nightmares, but it’s like I get…”

 

“Trapped.”

 

“Yeah. Yours don’t seem to do that.”

 

“They used to.” 

 

She was quiet as she absorbed that information. “What changed?”

 

“Nothin’, I’ve just had more practice.”

 

“You can always wake me up, you know.” He blinked, and she instinctively knew he would never take her up on her offer, but she needed to do godsdamned  _ something _ to let him know how much she cared, how much she wanted to be there for him, to share in even his worst and lowest moments because even those were better than the moments without him. “We don’t have to talk about it, but it might be nice to know you’re not alone.”

 

His hand cupped her neck, pulling her close as he dropped his lips to the crown of her head, settling them back into the pillows, his warm mouth dragging across her forehead as she burrowed into him, his hand splayed across her back, rough fingertips tracing her spine until the exhaustion won out and sleep pulled her from him again.

 

**~*~*~**

 

Finally he could hear the steady sound of her breathing, his fingers not stopping the motion of gliding across her back. She was exhausted, worn clear through and it tore at him, jagged edges of hurt. He had no idea how to fix it for her, frustration pushing at him until he was also frazzled, almost undone by her poorly concealed desperation.

 

Her words from earlier were haunting him, twisting around inside until they were a tangled knot, sitting heavy in his chest and it was pulling at him, the need to try and help her even though what she had asked was nearly impossible.

 

But if he didn’t, then she would put herself out on display, to be picked through, to be judged by people who had no business even looking at her that way. It wasn’t an ultimatum, she understood why he had declined, accepted it, and was moving on to find another way. And that was tearing at him viciously, a gaping wound he couldn’t hold shut, something he might be able to prevent if he was just willing to put her ahead, something everyone should have been doing from the beginning and failing miserably at.

 

If he wouldn’t do this for her, who would?

 

Sliding quietly out of bed, he waited until she stirred and settled, not missing the opportunity to brush stray wisps back from her face, the strangely colored hair now a knotted mess around her head, affection and lust mixing in with the sorrow he felt for her, the unfairness of it all blatantly on display.

 

Making himself push away, he moved silently across the room, unplugging his phone from the nightstand, stopping short for just a moment, undecided on his next step. No, that wasn't quite right— he knew what he needed to do, just needed to find the space to gather his bravery. 

 

The door between their rooms still stood open, a silent invitation for some privacy and he stole through it, almost feeling guilt for what he was about to do. Guilty about what, he wasn’t sure, but it was there, a presence sitting in the back of his mind as he closed the barrier between them, leaving off the lights, and having her layout memorized, made his way into her bathroom, closing that door also, another solid wall to keep his voice muffled, to not wake her up as he tried this futile attempt to help.

 

The background of his phone screen mocked him as he stared at it, trying to gather his thoughts, figure out how he could convince Robb to see it how he did without giving away too much of himself, of Dany, not quite willing to spell it out over the phone for his brother, not really sure how well he could bluff.

 

Tapping the back of the case, he let himself waver, tried to convince himself he hadn’t been headed down this road as soon as she had perched her lovely arse on his bathroom counter and confessed her plans. He pushed the button.

 

“What’s going on, brother? It’s late for a call from you.” Robb’s answer was too quick for him to have been asleep and Jon could hear the low sound of voices in the background, no doubt from a turned down TV, something to help block out the sounds that it wasn’t home. 

 

“There have been some events that have happened while you were gone.” He held his breath for a brief moment before letting it out. “You, well, Viserys, are walking back into a well deserved shit storm.”

 

“My interest is piqued.” He heard the TV turn off. “What’s happened?”

 

“The short version is, the City Watch found some factories in Astapor that look like they are connected to Viserys and Baelish. We are talkin’ child slavery, Robb, and it’s a fuckin’ mess.” His stomach churned with the thought of all those innocents being treated like that, of the guilt that shadowed Dany’s face even though it had nothing to do with her. “It’s not proved yet, Tyrion has an investigator on it, but they can’t know. We think it’s why whoever is after Dany, is after her.”

 

Laying it all out on the table like that made his voice shaky, he could almost,  _ almost _ see how the pieces fit, but it wasn’t quite enough to figure it out and that was frustrating and terrifying, that he might not be enough to stop it all.

 

A low whistle came from Robb’s end. “They are setting her up? She’s his sister.”

 

“Aye.” He didn’t trust himself to say anymore, to not let the rage pour out of him, vitriol and dark. “But that’s only part of why I’m calling.”

 

“I don’t like the sound of this.”

 

“I don’t like it either. I really don’t.” He was on the ledge of just how far he’d go, standing there and needing to make his decision. “She’s currently more concerned about the factories than whoever is after her.” Frustration was bleeding into his voice, a hand going roughly through his hair, a poor outlet. “There will be a board meeting tomorrow, I guess, she and Tyrion are pulling strings to have it happen without Vis or Baelish’s knowledge.” And here it was, that line that he should not be crossing. “She’s using proof of her brother’s misdeeds to have him overthrown.”

 

“Go on, Jon. You’re winding me up here.”

 

“We all know Viserys abuses— drugs, substances, her, but she only has proof of one of those things.” There it was, stuck in his throat, remembering the look on her face the first time he kept her brother from touching her, the shock that someone would stand between them. “She’s going to go to the board with a catalog of the physical abuse she’s endured from him.”

 

“For fuck’s sake.” Robb’s whisper made him squeeze his eyes shut.

 

“Robb, that throws her in the spotlight in a completely horrible, vulnerable way. Dany is opening herself up to a ton more ridicule, questions about her own emotional capability—“  _ fuck,  _ he did not want her to do that to herself, couldn’t stand seeing everyone judge her. “— so I’m asking you this, do you have proof of Viserys’ illegal activities right there in front of you?”

 

“What are you doing, Jon?” 

 

The soft concern was riddled with wariness and he knew they could be miles apart and yet Robb was seeing right through him. “I know this isn’t what we do, or should do, but  _ fuck,  _ Robb, how do I stay out of this when I might be able to make it a little less awful for her?”

 

It was too much, he was giving Robb enough that he should rightfully refuse Jon, pull them back out of this bog and back onto steadier ground, but he couldn’t crawl into that bed with her without knowing he’d done all he could.

 

“You stay out of it because that’s your job, Jon.” Robb’s tone held his own trepidation on where this was all leading and he knew it wasn’t a lack of caring on his brother’s part, but of understandable preservation.

 

“I know.” Damn it to all the hells, he  _ knew  _ it but couldn’t walk away now. “But Robb—“

 

“What do you want me to say? That he’s been on a Milk of Poppy trip since we got here? He has, other than one night he spent locked in his room and loaded on Shade of The Evening, or that Doreah comes out every fucking morning looking miserable because he’s invited some random prostitute into their room?” There was a long pause that spoke of Robb reining in his own frustrations. “But that doesn’t mean I can take pictures for evidence. I signed the same NDA you did and you know that.”

 

He unclenched his fist, letting the blood rush back into his fingers, didn’t even realize he had been doing that. “ _ I know _ . Fuck, I really do and I’m not askin’ this lightly, you know me better than that.”

 

“I thought I did.” 

 

The reproach and disappointment coated him, muting his vision, making him struggle to breathe and he should be aborting this attempt, but knowing Dany had used him to wear herself out so she didn’t have to think— something he’d gladly give her in any circumstance— made him dig in deeper, find that stubborn streak everyone was always accusing him of having. “This isn’t just some high born fool with a fondness for getting high, or some family battle over who gets the inheritance, these are lives, Robb. Hers, a bunch of children across the narrow sea. NDA or not, how can we turn a blind eye?”

 

Robb’s sigh settled in his chest. “I can’t make any promises and don’t get your hopes up, I’m warning you, Jon. Don’t say anything to Daenerys or Tyrion. I’ll think about it.”

 

“Thank you” His relief was almost palpable. “Thank—“

 

“Don’t thank me yet. And when I get back you and I need to have a talk about boundaries.”

 

Normally his response would be to tell Robb to fuck off, he was a godsdamned adult, but the tension was abating, the dull ache in his skull receding and he’d gladly listen to his brother rant if that’s what it took to give Dany the support she needed.

 

“Still, thank you.”

 

Robb’s grumbled reply was barely heard over the sound of his own relief, knowing that nothing might come of it, but it was  _ something.  _ Staring at the phone he watched the timer of the disconnected call flash for just a moment before turning into silent mode and then reversing his actions, opening back up the doors until he was at the side of his bed again, staring down at her, heart aching to give her all she needed, however she needed it.

 

Instead he slipped back into bed, enjoying the heat coming from her and soaking into his now chilled skin, her breath tickling his neck as she curled back into him.

 

He let his eyes fall closed, let the sound of her in sleep pull him under.

 

**~*~*~**

 

She woke at 4am, her mind already whirling with the day’s work laid out in front of them, and try as she might to settle, to let Jon’s steady breathing lure her back to sleep, she couldn’t. She gave up after a few moments, sliding out of his bed with a quick kiss to his lips when he stirred. “Go back to sleep,” she whispered, running her hands through unruly curls, fluffy from her constant petting the night before. “I’m just going downstairs to the gym. Grey will be awake.”

 

He studied her, quiet in the dark of the early morning, her heart sinking to see agitation in his eyes, but he let her go with a squeeze to her hand. “I’ll comm him to let him know you’re coming down.”

 

She nodded, brushing her hand through his beard before letting herself out through the adjoined door, and slipped into her closet to change into her workout gear, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

 

Grey was waiting for her when she got downstairs, silent and solemn as ever, clearing the gym for her before she dropped down to stretch, muscles protesting from the various other forms of “exercise” she and Jon had been engaging in. She stepped onto the treadmill, not quite sure if she was running from her problems, or towards her solutions.

 

Dei’s eyes were haunting her.

 

The hurt that stood in them, the fact that they were not moving quickly enough for any of their tastes indisputable. She just didn't know how else to proceed. It felt like they were being deliberately stymied at every turn, and every bump in the road opened the door for more heinous possibilities, more children dead, or dying.

 

She ran harder, sweat pouring down her face as she tried to think around the problem. Dei was right— they had no business accepting an award for “Positive Change” when they had actually been doing nothing of the sort— upholding the same, broken status quo that had held the world of fashion in a stranglehold for generations, had rolled over everyone in their path leaving a wake of destruction so large it was immeasurable.

 

And yet, Tyrion was also right— if they didn’t accept the award, then it could be seen as a tacit complicitness, something that Viserys and Baelish had already ensured with their actions.

 

She wanted to scream, tear out her hair in frustration and anger, march down to Astapor and not stop raging until every man, woman, and child caught in the chokehold of oppression was free. She had promised Dei that they would find a way— that they would put a stop to it, but she had no idea how to keep that promise, but she knew she would be thrice damned before she gave up trying to find a solution.

 

“You’re up early.”

 

Dany jerked her head toward the door, startled, nearly stumbling on the treadmill as Dei stepped quietly through the door. “Couldn’t sleep.”

 

“Ah.” In her hands, she held a giant black garment bag, the House Targaryen sigil emblazoned in red across it. “Your dress for tomorrow, the  _ ateliers _ sent it over. Jhiqui will be here in a few hours for your fitting. You should go shower, we have a lot of work to do today.”

 

Dany stepped off the treadmill, and glanced down at Jon’s watch, shocked to find over an hour had passed, only now starting to feel the burning in her legs and lungs, breath coming heavily as she reached for her water bottle. Dei stared at her for another moment before turning on her heel. “I’ll put this in Rhaegar’s studio.”

 

“Dei, wait, please.” She stalled, not sure how to continue, not sure how to make any of this ok, moving to take the garment bag from her best friend’s hands and lay it aside. She dropped onto the weight bench, motioning for Dei to sit, casting about for how to begin, finally deciding to start with the most time sensitive issue, the Board meeting also weighing on her mind— pit of fear in her stomach be damned. “I need your help with cross referencing all the pictures you’ve taken with my medical records.”

 

Missandei’s golden eyes widened. “Why?”

 

“If Tyrion can’t get the financials, and we can’t get proof of illegal activity, then the alternate plan is to try to oust him on the grounds of inappropriate behavior. I can’t ask anyone else to come forward if I haven’t done so myself, so…” her voice trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

 

Dei nodded slowly, studying her so thoroughly it almost made Dany shiver. She said nothing though, as if she was afraid by commenting on the surprising turn would spook her back into the shadows, and pulled out her phone, tapping away. “Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

 

“Thank you.” Dany knew she must have questions, truth be told she had plenty of them herself. She reached for a towel to wipe away some of the sweat pouring down her face, the towel coming away streaked with more hair dye. She stared at it, finding herself wishing it could be so easy to just become something or someone else. If she had been different, something  _ more _ , maybe none of this would be happening.

 

“I’m sorry about last night.” Dany kept her eyes trained on the towel, running her fingers back and forth across the soft fabric. “I know there’s a better solution out there for the ceremony, but I just can’t see it right now. I don’t want to go— I don’t want to be a hypocrite, and I hate the idea of being rewarded for a lie. Rhaegar would be so disappointed, and livid, and—“

 

“Dany,” Missandei fidgeted next to her, fingers gripping her phone tightly. “Rhaegar’s not here.”

 

She blinked, turning to stare at her best friend, the jolt of pain rushing through her heart at that statement bringing her up short. “I know that,” she said, her voice strangled.

 

Dei’s eyes held sympathy— a confusing opposition to her harsh words. “I wish that you would find a way to do what  _ you _ want to do, and not what he would have wanted. He can’t lead from beyond the grave, Dany. But you are here, you are  _ alive _ , and every bit as talented as he was. I think it’s time for you to take that step forward.”

 

Dany’s mouth went dry at Dei’s words, her heart in her throat. For the past five years, every thought and action had gone into upholding the legacy that Rhaegar had built, in continuing forward in his footsteps, following his vision. Even the founding of Rhaegar’s Harp, while her project in every way, had been driven by the memory of him. To step beyond what he would have wanted was… frightening.

 

And yet, she could hear the freedom in it calling for her as well.

 

Had she willingly chained herself all these years to a legacy that had bound instead of building toward more? And if she were to want to do more, what would it be?

 

“Leave Rhaegar out of all of it for a minute— forget Viserys, forget Tyrion, and me, and Jon.” Dei hand settled on her knee, squeezing slightly to tease. “Although we both know what a struggle  _ that _ is for you.” 

 

They both chuckled. “Now, think about you. And what you want. If you have to go, how do you make it happen on your terms? Find the right way to say yes for  _ you _ .”

 

Dany’s mind was whirling. She could almost feel the synapses firing and making new connections, refiltering her thoughts in a completely foreign way. “Sometimes you just have to ignore everyone around you, and listen for your own voice. I think it’s been a long time since you’ve heard it, but she’s speaking now. Can you hear her?”

 

She shut her eyes, letting Dei’s wisdom pour over her, the edges of an idea flirting within her grasp. “We do have to go,” she mused, a sudden streak of lightning searing through her. “We have to go, but we don’t have to accept. I’m the keynote speaker anyhow, so if we rewrite my speech, turn down the award on the premise of the work not being done—“

 

“There she is,” Dei beamed, wrapping Dany up in a hug. “Go gather your thoughts while you shower and get your hair back to normal. We have so much to do today, and the clock waits for no man.”

 

Dany grinned up at her friend. “Lucky for us, we’re not men. And we can make miracles happen. Thank you, Dei.”

 

“Let’s pull this off first, shall we?”

 

**~*~*~**

 

Tension filled the manse to the brim, all the empty corners practically vibrating with the energy. The scar above his heart was tingling, his reactive urge to rub had been plaguing him all day, the abused skin now protesting as the hours seemed to drag by.

 

He wasn’t sure of what was said between Dany and Dei, and he knew it wasn’t his business, but some of the rigidity between the two friends had lessened, some of the weight lifted from their shoulders.

 

And he was glad for it, the awkwardness of the suit fitting enough to make him squirm even without the want to pry as Dei has flitted in and out, gently poking fun at his uncomfortable demeanor, assuring him that he and Dany would look  _ smashing  _ on the red carpet together. Something else to fill him full of nerves.

 

Would everyone be looking at him like that?

 

But now he didn’t have the time to worry, a habitual glance at the watch that wasn’t there had him cursing before he looked at his phone to check the time. His call with Yara Greyjoy had ran longer than he hoped, annoyance crawling through his veins every time he spoke to Ironborn Securities, but it couldn’t be helped— they were the backup for the ceremony, Robb’s idea, not his, and proven competent, even if he didn’t like them.

 

He had time, if he hurried, before Dany’s board meeting, so he roused himself to his feet, shaking his head at his own fumbling before grabbing the small box off the edge of his desk, the contents delivered by Tyrion an hour earlier, the other man strangely silent at the delivery.

 

Not wanting to dive into that particular string of thoughts, he crossed the hall, dismissing Grey with a slap on the shoulder and giving a quick knock on Dany’s open door, waiting in threshold for her to look up from her desk.

 

_ Gods,  _ she looked small, dark circles under her eyes, his heart squeezing at the sight and he vowed to himself that he’d gently cajole her into going to bed early that night, maybe convince her of a nap on the big leather couch behind her, if possible. 

 

“You have some time before you launch your attack?” It was meant lightly, as a jest, as encouragement and he saw the edges of a smile before it fell, the hole inside him widening.

 

They were off balance and he wasn’t sure why, didn’t know how to fix it.

 

“For you? Always.”

 

Her voice was filled with warmth even though he could hear her weariness along the edges and he let himself in, shutting the door firmly behind him in an attempt to block them off from the reality of it all for even just a few minutes. He’d try at least.

 

“It doesn’t need to be,  _ always,  _ Dany.” He settled himself on the edge of her desk, allowed himself the pleasure of ghosting his fingers over her cheek, savoring the feel of her skin, wanting her to know she didn’t need to bend over backwards for him. “If you need me to give you space, just let me know.”

 

“What does that mean?” Hurt flickered over those pretty features and gods, he had fucked that up. 

 

“It means, I’m terrible with words.” Instead of retreating, he pushed forward, sliding his fingers down her throat to feel her pulse, it’s steady beat a reassurance. “If I’m in the way, or distracting you and you need me out of your hair, tell me and I’ll leave you be until you’re ready for me.”

 

“You’re always a distraction.” Something else had shadowed her eyes before she masked it, his own confusion being diffused by the sly pout coming to her lips as she stood, angled herself between his thighs, palms warm through his jeans.

 

“I’m serious.” He put down the box to hook his hand around her waist, to pull her in close and ignore the niggling little voice in the back of his head to bump his nose along hers. “I don’t want to make this more difficult for you.”

 

She was the one who tilted her chin, took his mouth with a searing kiss, muddling his train of thought as her hands went to his neck, his own sliding under her thin shirt to find her back, splay possessively over the skin there.

 

“You don’t.” It was confessed against his lips, the taste of her lingering on his tongue and he closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy the close press of her body.

 

Soothed, he brushed his cheek against hers, letting her girlish laugh fill him up, his fingers finding that perfect spot on her hips to hold, pressing in to hear her gasp and squirm for a moment before releasing her. 

 

“I’ve got something for you.” Delight lit up the blue of her eyes, his heart doing a strange thump in his chest. “It’s not anythin’ really.”

 

“Oh?” Her eyebrows raised and she stepped back, grabbing his hand and tugging relentlessly until he got to his feet, crossing the few steps to the couch and allowing her to settle them into the cushions, her hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she balanced on her knees beside him. “Hand it over, Snow.”

 

It was a terrible idea, he realized as he handed over the box, letting her get her hopes up over something so silly. “Don’t get too excited.” 

 

Her plump bottom lip was held carefully between her teeth as she opened the box, confusion wrinkling her brow for just a second before she smiled again, her shoulders tipping towards him. “Jon.”

 

There was too much emotion packed into something as simple as his name and he closed his eyes for a heartbeat before cupping her neck. “It’s just a phone, Dany.”

 

“You said you would and you did.”

 

_ Fuck,  _ that almost broke his heart. “Aye, I did.” Needing something to ground him, to diffuse the  _ heaviness  _ of something simple, he pulled her into his side, hand covering hers to push the button and turn it on. “You have three numbers, Dei, Tyrion, and me.” And he wasn’t going to survive the way she was looking at him, throat constricting, his voice rough. “Feel free to delete any of them if you prefer.”

 

Instead of the cheeky retort he was expecting, arms wrapped around him, her face pressing into the crook of his neck, the wild beat of her heart flooding into his and he was so incredibly  _ sad  _ that something that simple meant so much, the need to give her everything overwhelming and sharp.

 

“So, you hate it.”

 

A muffled snort, vibrated against his neck. “It's truly awful.”

 

The rush of air filled his lungs, his hand finding her mess of hair and tangling in the strands. “I’ll try and do better next time.”

 

Suddenly her warmth was gone from his side, leaving him reeling for the feel of skin, his body going on alert trying to figure out what was happening, but he stilled as she held up her hand and crossed to the door.

 

Captivated by the sight of her turning the lock on her door, his cock waking up eagerly even though a trickle of unease ran through him. He didn’t want her to think that it was strings attached. “What are you doing?”

 

“Locking the door.” She turned back towards him and pulled her shirt over his head, the basic part of himself starting to salivate over the view of her round, little tits.

 

“I didn’t get you this in exchange for sex.”

 

The noise from the back of her throat was disapproving, fingers hooking in the waistband of her pants. “ _ That _ thought never crossed my mind, but thank you for clearing it up.”

 

Her tone indicated she thought he was ridiculous and in that moment he agreed, wanting to not take advantage of her feelings while  _ something  _ was off but helpless as she shimmied out of the rest of her clothing.

 

His breath caught in his throat and he silently thanked any and all the Gods for her aversion to undergarments as she continued forward, his palms curling into the leather, the hardwiring in his brain starting to snap and fizzle and she stopped at his knees, nudging them apart with her own, in all her pale glory, wearing nothing but his watch.

 

“Take off your shirt.”

 

There was no hesitation on his part, keeping his eyes on hers as he leaned forward enough to strip it over his head, not missing the hitch in her breath, the dark flare in her blue depths before her gaze moved lower, mapping over his battle scars, making him not feel self conscious, but accepting of his story, glued back together.

 

Still under her thrall he reached his arms back to the headrest, gripping tightly as she leaned forward, her arm outstretched, breath against his lips before her feather light touch, his mouth chasing hers when she pulled back, a pillow in her hands that she dropped on the floor between his knees.

 

The sound of his heart was so loud that he was deaf, the wild beating making him lightheaded, the scent of her making him dizzy, craving a taste of her, to sink his teeth right into that soft flesh, pull her apart and unravel her, put her back together.

 

Those thoughts were stilled with her hands sliding up his thighs, a hum in her throat as she placed her lips above his scar, open mouthed and wet, worrying the skin and he could no longer keep his hands to himself, fingers threaded through the mass of hair, the muscles in his stomach quivering with her light touches, pressure released with the unbuttoning of his pants, the careful slide of his zip.

 

“Dany….” It was a rough word, forced out over the lust in his throat as her mouth lit a trail of fire across his clavicle, a hand spanning across her shoulders before fisting in her hair, tugging sharply, needing her lips against his, groaning when he was finally able to sweep his tongue against hers, pull her awkwardly in until he could feel her pebbled nipples against his chest, a delightful awareness as he tilted her chin, free hand sliding down to squeeze her ample arse, inhaling her whimper of delight.

 

Everything blurred together, nails scratching against his skin, heat and soft, squeezing and testing her curves, a haze of need wrapping them up tight, frantic grabs, needing to be tight inside of her then needing something else as her hand slid into his jeans, the silken brush of her palm as she fisted his cock, all of his thoughts fleeing south to center where she was stroking his hard and aching flesh.

 

With a shudder he lifted his hips, grateful as she made a noise of urgency helping him slide the confines of clothing down, freeing himself to be at her mercy. His eyes rolled back for a moment as she settled down on her knees, anticipation making him sink lower into the couch, gathering her hair and holding it back, needing a clear view.

 

And what a sight it was, pink tongue darting out to wet those luscious lips, mouth hovering over him, breath tickling his sensitive flesh, impatience making him want to thrust towards her mouth. Finally she took pity on him, lips wrapping around the swollen head, a long shuddering exhale as she sucked him down into her wet heat, holding him there before repeating the motion.

 

She was making him deaf, blind to everything except his cock disappearing into her mouth, the glassy look of lust in her eyes, the lewd slurping sounds she made with every pass, his fist tightening in all that hair as she worked at wrecking him.

 

“Dany,  _ fuck _ .” 

 

A hand cupped him on her downward pass, slick and slobbery as he hit the back of her throat, gagging before she backed off, squeezing gently, making his hips jump as she pulled away to take a ragged breath, looking up, pinning him with her gaze as she bobbed back down, cheeks hollowed with her effort.

 

He could feel his release building, rapidly in the wake of her devastating movements, no match for the magic of her mouth and he finally relinquished his hold, long hair tickling his thighs and hiding her face before he reached down and hooked her under the arms, his groan mingling with her noise of disappointment, her protest ending as he dropped her on the couch.

 

Laying her back, he twisted, shoving a thigh towards her chest, a demanding growl that she hold it there, pushing other leg off the couch, shoving it as wide as he could, opening her up for his pleasure, finding arousal evident on her lips, the smell of her making him ravenous and he wasted no time, sliding off the couch to crowd closer, bury his tongue in the heat of her.

 

A high pitched noise came from the back of her throat, her hips twisting until he pinned her with his forearm, licking a flat line up to tap at her clit, spending a moment there to lave at it, the taste of her filling his mouth, feeding the never ending hunger, encouraging his want to spend all his time with his head between her thighs.

 

Backing off her sensitive nub, he slipped two fingers inside of her, moving towards that magic spot she had shown him, ever the dutiful student, mouth covering her again, tongue moving in precisely, her reactions the best reward for his lessons.

 

The hitch in her breath informed him she was getting close, his cock desperate to be inside those tight walls but he wanted her to break apart with his mouth against her, her fingers tight in his hair, back arched off the couch, the fluttering of her cunt making him push her a little harder, curl his fingers, suck at her clit.

 

Her body stilled for just a moment before she shuddered, a long cry filling the room, her orgasm rocking through her, a gush of wet drowning his fingers with a squelch as he continued to fuck her through it, until her body dropped with a groan, muscles lax, fingers releasing their grip of him.

 

Filling his lungs with air, he sat back, lips and chin wet with her, savory in his mouth and he levered himself up onto the couch, pride and affection rolling through him seeing her in a messy heap, breasts moving with her rapid breaths, her eyes closed as she recovered.

 

“We aren’t done yet.”

 

Lashes fluttered at him as she roused herself, her eyes blurry and he couldn’t resist any longer, dropping over her, finding her chewed up lips with his own, sharing the taste of her release with her, the hungry groan she fed him twisting inside and making him a little more wild. Demanding he thrust his tongue into her mouth, ravaging, messily before nipping at her lips, then moving down latching onto a neglected nipple, dragging his teeth over the tip, her cry rousing him even more, pushing at his control, pinching the other so it wouldn’t be left out before switching, flicking at it, biting sharply at the fleshy side of her tit, her sharp cry of surprise filling him, turning him into a predator, she his prey.

 

No longer content to ignore his throbbing cock, he sat up, pulling her with him, her hands scrambling for purchase, to regain her senses until he had her straddling him, the wet heat of her folds settled against his cock, nipping sharply at her ear before encouraging. “C’mon Dany, fuck me”

 

A sharp exhale tickled his neck and she struggled to raise her head, gathering herself back up and his hunger burned through him, determination set in her jaw as she lifted, his hands settling on her hips as she positioned him, biting her lip as she began her descent, his turn to let his head fall as he was enclosed in the fire, burning through him, setting his blood alight.

 

Gasping with her effort, she began with short shallow thrusts, adjusting to the intrusion and he grabbed her arse, letting her keep her maddening pace, fingers squeezing tight enough to mark, wanting to flip her over and let the beast inside take over.

 

Sweat was pooling between them, down the line of his back, the creak of leather keeping time with the obscene sounds of their coupling flesh, his mind and senses filled with  _ Dany _ — her scent and taste, the feel of her body moving against him, his cock deep inside of her, enthralled by the fluid motion of her hips.

 

She was making little mewls, his mouth nipping at her tits while they bounced with her rhythm, biding his time for her low groan, the one that would let him know she was primed and ready for him to do as he pleased.

 

Growling encouragements against her flesh, his hands kept her steady as she moved, her hand on the back of his neck keeping his head to her chest. She faltered, knees slipping on the slick surface, widening her stance, her body dropping hard into him, her breath stuttering as he tightened his hold, keeping her in place, his own hips bucking up roughly, shoving himself impossibly deeper.

 

His mind sparked with her high pitched noise, his chest tight, greedy as he held her there, ready to take and consume, forcing the words out over desires.” Too much?”

 

“Yes.” Her nails dug in deep. “Do it again.”

 

Something inside of him snapped and he lifted her, slamming her down in time with his thrust up, a rough noise filling his ears, encouraging his savagery and he did it again and again and again and she felt so fucking good that he was going to lose his mind, her cries a little wild and desperate, matching what was inside of him, feeding the craving to handle her, satisfying her craving to be handled, used a little roughly by him and he forced his eyes open to watch her face twist. “Touch yourself.”

 

She obeyed his snapped out command, a hand sliding down, getting caught between their heaving bodies, his hard rhythm making it difficult. But he knew she was close, so close he could see it, his own release ready to snap through him, vision starting to blur as she moaned, curling towards him, teeth sinking into his shoulders as she fell apart, her cunt grabbing greedily at his cock, pushing him off the precipice, blinding pleasure racing through him as he yanked her down one last time, grinding into her, filling her full of his release.

 

When he finally regained some senses, she was collapsed against him, pillowy soft and scorching heat, her shuddering body causing him to twitch, his hand reaching up to push her hair aside, nose at her cheek, let the joy of holding her close satisfy him as much as the sex had.

 

They were still a little off balance, he knew it, unable to figure out how to solve that, but she was in his arms, warm and willing, clinging to his shoulders, his lips brushing across her own before tucking her in tighter, holding her as tight as he could get.

 

“You’re going to be in a rush, that call has to be soon.” He hated disturbing the small chunk of peace they were wrapped in, but the thought of Tyrion and Dei knocking on the door while his arse was still sweated to the leather was rather horrifying.

 

“It is.” 

 

That lithe frame rolled against him, making him wince as his softened cock slipped out of her, his nose crinkling at the rush of wet. “And we’re a mess.”

 

Blue suddenly filled his vision. “Yes.” Standing, she winced as she looked at her thighs, reaching out and pulling the blanket from the corner of the couch, dabbing at herself. “You’re staying for this?

 

“What?” He shook his head back into awareness and away from where he was enjoying the view of her naked and flushed, trying to make sense of her words. “The video conference?” He grimaced as he stood, shifting his pants back up gingerly. “Do you want me to stay?”

 

A buzzing in his pocket made him look down, frowning as he pulled the phone out, a new message from Robb downloading. A sudden jolt of hope making him hold his breath. Thumb wavering for just a moment, he opened it, incredulous laugh rattling in his chest as he saw what filled his screen. “Dany—“

 

She closed in, fingers wrapping around his wrist, her eyes going wide with the evidence in front of her. “Jon—“

 

Picture after picture came in, all incriminating evidence stacking up against Viserys, the knot in his shoulders relaxing as he realized what it meant— the Board would be hard-pressed to not move Vis out with the drugs scattered around him, a close up of Doreah with a red handprint marring her cheek.

 

“I thought you weren’t going to ask.”

 

It was there again, under his feet, the shaky ground of uncertainty, the rule book having been tossed to the side, the agonizing pull of guilt crowding his mind. “I wasn’t.” She was looking at him again, the urge to pull her close crawling across his skin, but he resisted. “But I did.” He didn’t mean to be short with her, but the decision wasn’t something he wanted to delve into. “Better get dressed, I’ll go show this to Tyrion.”

 

Her lips were soft against his cheek, savory, the scent of  _ them  _ clinging to the air. “Thank you.”

 

~*~*~

 

It was a scramble to get her ready before the call, and every time she thought about the fact that their combined juices still coated her thighs under hastily drawn on pants she felt her face flame anew. Missandei had brought her a newly pressed shirt, a deep V with a high collar that would demand attention, square cut black diamond earrings to complete the look moments after Jon had taken the photos to Tyrion to replace what they had provided earlier, with instructions for them to remove the picture of Doreah.

 

If Dany wouldn’t have to put herself on display for the Board, neither would anyone else. Her brother would hang himself on his own crimes, and not drag anyone else down with him. She also instructed Tyrion to try to call and make sure that the poor girl was all right— she didn’t know what had set her brother off, or how he had gotten the drop on her with Robb there as well, but her heart went out to her. She knew first hand how easy it was to get caught in Viserys’ web with no hope of escape.

 

Irri breezed in to wrangle her tousled hair into something professional, to apply a swirl of deep red lipstick and coat of cover up to her face and neck, clucking her tongue at the dark circles under her eyes— a knowing, teasing look that Dany didn’t feel like correcting. It was much easier to let the woman think she wasn’t getting any sleep because Jon was keeping her awake and… agile… for hours every night rather than the reality of fear, nightmares, and stress.

 

Tyrion and Dei were settled across from her on the desk, laptops already connected wirelessly to the slide show they had hastily constructed, Tyrion glancing at his watch every few seconds.

 

“Tyrion, that’s not helping.”

 

“I know, it’s— I was hoping for a response by now.”

 

Dany fought the urge to rub her forehead, another headache coming on. “If we don’t get the numbers, we’ll just go with what we have, Viserys’ activities first, and if that doesn’t work... Play to whatever hearts they have and hope for the best.” She couldn't help the sinking of her own in that moment, knowing what the likelihood of being able to pull this off without the financials was slim to none. No Board in their right mind would oust a seemingly successful CEO without dire cause, and a small matter of drug addiction would be laughed out of the room.

 

“Is Plan B ready just in case?”

 

Tyrion shivered, nodding ever so slightly, still somewhat pasty from the literal hundreds of pictures she and Dei had spent the morning compiling, cross-referencing with her medical records until a rather morbid calendar of her life was laid out in front of them. Jorah, just returned from his scant days off, had written an eye-witness testimony of the night of Rhaegar’s funeral, how he had found Viserys holed up with her in the garage still kicking her in the stomach and ribs even though she was lying unconscious and bleeding on the floor. She only remembered the first flurry of hits to her face, the moment he had grabbed her by the hair and driven her head into the wall, everything after dark. To this day, she still had no idea how he had broken her wrist.

 

Jon had yet to see those pictures, or those slides, and she hoped he never would.

 

Jorah had pulled Viserys off of her, locking him in his room until he had gotten her to the hospital and into a doctor’s care. Thankfully, no surgery had been needed, and at the time it had seemed to serve as a wake up call to Viserys as he checked in to a rehab in Dorne in a flood of remorseful tears the next day. Now, she wondered if it was just the next in a long line of manipulations, just another way to keep her under his thumb for as long as he could.

 

The rest of the catalog of minor injuries followed, all of the sprains and muscle tears cross-referenced and documented as thoroughly as if Missandei had been planning this out for years.

 

Dany wouldn’t put it past her. Cleverness and Missandei went hand in hand, and it was obvious that she was done allowing others to take their power from those that had none. Dany felt a fierce sense of pride course through her with that thought. She certainly had a lot to learn from her.

 

Jon’s gift was tucked securely into her back pocket, vibrating every so often with texts from him, small encouragements meant to make her smile, and she had to wonder if he knew the effect even so small a gesture would have on her. She thought not— the idea that he had given her a gift at all, and with no strings attached to it at that, was a foreign concept to her, and she felt herself falling further and further under his spell with every message that appeared on her screen. 

 

It wasn’t so much the gift that had affected her so deeply, but the promise kept— the idea that he had followed through on something mentioned in passing, something that she had nonetheless taken into her heart, and he had actually done it. He had no idea how wonderful he was, and that was more than dangerous— it was intoxicating, and she found that she wanted nothing more than to bask in it— to bask in the delights of him for as long as she could. And if that meant digging deep within herself to fix what had gone askew with them, then she would do so. 

 

Soon.

 

“Oh gods,” Tyrion sucked in a gasp, jerking Dany out of much more pleasant thoughts, turning his laptop screen to Missandei for verification before he scurried around to show Dany. His face had gone grey, only his lips retaining any color— a sure sign that he had nipped into the wine cellar at some point, medicating himself the best way he knew how.

 

“What?” Dany snapped, peering over his shoulder, her eyes roaming over sheets upon sheets of data, all full of complex numbers, projections, and earnings. 

 

Everything was red.

 

She may not understand much about finances, but that certainly did not look good.

 

“Tyrion?”

 

His mismatched eyes were rapidly flying back and forth across the screen, his hands moving just as quickly as he tabbed between sheets, checking his new facts and figures against what the Board had been shown just two weeks prior at the end of the second quarter.

 

A tiny groan left him before he waved Missandei over as well, gesturing for her to start inputting new slides into the presentation. “We’re fucked.”

 

“Fucked how? Are the numbers are actually ok? House Targaryen is in the black, and we won’t be able to oust him, or we’re fucked like—“

 

“We’re fucked in that House Targaryen is almost certainly committing fraud, and is misleading the shareholders— has for years. If this projection is correct—” he tabbed over into another screen, leaning over to where Dei was also working at a frightening pace, “— House Targaryen will be bankrupt by the end of next year.”

 

Dany felt her heart plummet. “Bankrupt?” She had assumed that things weren’t great, Viserys and Baelish both had been pushing her to take more and more high profile, multi-million dollar jobs in the past months, but the mere thought of that money just being  _ gone _ was unfathomable. “Can we turn it around?”

 

“At this point, I don’t know. I’ll need to sit with the data, and the Finance team— surely some of them must know if we have other assets tied up somewhere, but this… This is bad.”

 

“Can you make it palatable in the next—“ she checked Jon’s watch, “— ten minutes, or do we need to push back the call?”

 

“We can’t push it back,” Dei murmured. “It was hard enough to get a quorum. We have to do this now, or wait until Monday.”

 

Dany shoved back her chair, making room for Tyrion and Dei at her desk to work side by side. “Go.”

 

~*~*~

 

In the end, she needn’t have worried. The Board was sufficiently horrified by the discovery of the factories, agreeing that even though the evidence was circumstantial at best, it’s very existence and proven ties to Baelish created a ticking time bomb for House Targaryen. Thankfully, enough of Rhaegar’s appointees had managed to hold their positions during the tumultuous reign of Baelish and Viserys to demand that actions be taken to resolve the “unfortunate situation.” And, once Tyrion had walked them through the failing numbers, the rest of the detractors fell into an uproar so deafening it took ten solid minutes of begging for silence over the call before order could be restored.

 

“Gentlemen, please—“ Dany pounded on her desk with an onyx dragon paperweight, unsure if the sound would carry over the speakers, but needing to try something to make sure that her voice was heard. “This issue is time sensitive. We must move quickly. Viserys and Baelish have already done grave harm in Astapor and we need to call for a vote right away. Once they have both been ousted, then Tyrion can begin the process of shutting down these factories and head up the internal investigations needed in our Finance department. We can discuss a replacement, and  _ then  _ we can move on to the matter of righting the sinking ship. This company meant everything to my brother— both of my brothers in their own way— and I can assure you that I will not allow House Targaryen to fall.”

 

“That’s all well and good Ms. Targaryen, however unless you are planning on taking your brother’s seat, the succession is a discussion that should take precedence,” Jon Connington spoke up, his greying head leaning forward into view of the camera. Dany stifled a sigh. She should have known that Rhaegar’s closest ally would demand to know where to look for leadership. He had been the sole dissenter to Viserys’ appointment, and had harbored a bitter disappointment and private grief for years.

 

“I have no interest in any position other than that which I already hold,” she said quietly, glancing up as Jon slipped into the room and took a seat beside Dei. “I think we can all agree that my gifts are better applied to the creative side of the House, however— I must insist that we move forward with firing both gentleman immediately. Human lives are at stake, and I will not allow any more time to pass without offering the aid and restitution that they deserve.”

 

Another dull roar erupted from her speakers, support and dissent equal to her ears, and she pounded the paperweight again. “Gentleman! Please. All of you knew Rhaegar. You know that if he were here beside me right now that this would never have happened. However, he is not, and it did. His legacy stands on the brink, and we all vowed to uphold his vision when he died. This blight on our House  _ must _ be brought to a swift end.”

 

She could tell the effect invoking her brother’s name had on Connington, his shoulders stiff as he stood his ground, no doubt feeling some lingering loyalty to him instead of her, to the company that had done it’s best to immortalize her brother. “Still, we can’t announce that we are dismissing our CEO without a replacement and PR plan in place. The Shareholders will panic, stocks will tumble, and I don’t need to explain how catastrophic that would be given our financial crisis.”

 

She sighed. “What do you propose?”

 

Connington steepled his hands in front of him, thinking. “Fire them both, but quietly. We can discuss suitable replacements and announce on Monday. This will give you and Viserys the opportunity to make one last final public appearance— win over the world with your charm and grace, and remind our clients and competitors alike what House Targaryen truly stands for.”

 

She grimaced. “You don’t know Viserys as well as you think you do you, ser.”

 

A new voice joined the conversation, and Dany squinted to identify the gentleman, older than the rest gathered, but age had not stooped his broad shoulders one iota— Barristan Selmy. “No, but I know you, and have been watching you with great interest, Ms. Targaryen. If anyone can bring him to heel for just one night, it would be you.”

 

Dany tapped her fingers nervously against her desk before folding her hands in front of her. “If I were to agree to this, I have a condition of my own. I want a replacement found and announced the morning after the ceremony. We’ll have one complete news cycle of positive PR, and then the announcement of new leadership to accompany a new creative vision.”

 

A moment of silence as Selmy looked to his compatriots before nodding. “We will need to discuss suitable candidates.”

 

“Of course,” She glanced to where Dei and Jon were sitting, Dei’s eyes shining, Jon stoic— as always— another hint of displeasure in his eyes at the negotiation, but pride was lingering there as well. She fought down a triumphant smile and motioned to Dei, her fingers already flying across her phone in anticipation. “Missandei is sending you my short list now. All of these candidates have been personally vetted by my team. I encourage you to consider my top choice very carefully.” 

 

She leaned closer to the screen, careful not to let her face pass the line of tape Dei had put down on her desk, unwilling to let her appear cartoonish in the eye of the camera, taking a moment to look each man in the eye as well as a video conference could allow. She wanted them to see the seriousness, the fire, in her own. “As the last officially associated member of the Targaryen family with House Targaryen, I would assume that my opinion would be worth quite a lot in continuing my family’s lengthy and honored legacy, yes?” She let the implication hang in the air, flexing the power of her name, making note of any who shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

 

“But of course. We would consider any of your candidates to be serious contenders.” Selmy, ever the battle-hardened peacekeeper was quick to soothe.

 

“And we could announce the morning after the ceremony?”

 

A rumble went through the room before Connington nodded.  “I do not see why not.”

 

“I’m afraid I’ll need more than that paltry assurance, ser.” She held his gaze, her determination blazing now.

 

A small smile spread across Connington’s face. “Ah. Another dragon.” He glanced around the room, gathering the nods of affirmation. “You have our word.”

 

“In that case, I would like to officially call a vote for the immediate removal of Chief Executive Officer, Viserys Targaryen, and Chief Financial Officer, Petyr Baelish. Do I have a second?”

 

She was unsure if it was Connington or Selmy that spoke almost before she had finished, a chorus of “Seconded” greeting her ears, and it was the sweetest sound she had heard until moments later when the unanimous “Ayes” flowed over her.

 

Now, all she had to do was tell him.

 

~*~*~

 

Strength.

 

Fire in her eyes.

 

That was what she needed to face him. No matter what Viserys said, no matter how hard he pushed or threatened— cajoled, begged, pleaded, apologized or any other number of the myriad of manipulations he had at his disposal.

 

No. This time she was prepared, and with Jon beside her, protected. Vis may have been used to seeing tears in her eyes, but  _ this _ time, he would see only flames, no matter what. She would not fail. She was the blood of the dragon, and although Viserys had often threatened her with the fear of waking the dragon inside of him, she was beginning to realize that his was nothing compared to hers.

 

_ Let them both wake, and we’ll see who wins in the end. _

 

He had everything to lose, and she had everything to fight for. And she would.

 

“Robb texted me the go ahead. They’re back in the guest house and settled from the flight.” Jon’s voice sounded far away, her own breath harsh in her ears. “Are you ready?”

 

“No, but I don’t think I have a choice.”

 

He grasped her hand, gently turning her to face him, his eyes burning with some emotion she couldn’t identify. “We can find another way.”

 

“Not in time,” she murmured, squeezing his hand back, or at least she told herself she was squeezing it back, not that she was fairly certain she couldn’t feel her fingers, and that her hand was spasming in his firm grip. “This is long overdue.”

 

“I know you think that you have to be the one to do this, but maybe Tyrion would be better.”

 

Her laugh was gentle, quiet. “Viserys thinks that Tyrion is something…” her voice trailed off as she searched for the words. “... grotesque. Vis would never listen to him. Besides, I’m done letting other people fight my battles for me.”

 

Jon sighed and opened his mouth to no doubt protest further, but Dany placed her hand over his supple lips. “I know you don’t understand, honestly, I don’t expect you to, but this is something I have to do. It has to be me. As much for me as for him.”

 

She could see the echo of pain in his gaze, the thought of her putting herself in harm’s way, whether it be emotional or physical something he despised. Maybe that’s why he had done it, and she found her curiosity was too much for her to bear right in this moment. She had no desire to knock them askew again, but she couldn’t not ask, especially when she didn’t know how Vis was going to react. If she could repair this rift first, it would only help her stand strong in front of her brother. Hopefully Jon as well. “Why did you ask Robb for the pictures?”

 

His eyes softened even as he shifted on his feet, obviously uncomfortable with her question, but he seemed to recognize the same need she did, both desperate in their own way to feel the ground solid beneath their feet once more. “Because…” he took a deep breath, searching for some courage within him, and she pressed closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He stared down at her, the tiniest bit of awe breaking through his gaze. “Because the thought of you puttin’ yourself through more pain for him is unbearable.”

 

He left the “to me” unsaid, but she could feel it reverberating in her chest and she couldn’t hold eye contact anymore, burrowing her face into his chest, letting him gather her closer, his chin coming to rest on her head. “You hate everything about this, don’t you?”

 

“Aye,” there was his own pain there, leaking through his voice, and she tightened her arms around him. “But I’m not lettin’ you go through this by yourself. So even though I hate every piece of this, and would rather just change the locks on the guest house and let your brother rot until this is done, I’m goin’ to be there every step of the way with you. You’re not alone.”

 

Her heart was pounding hard enough she was sure he could feel it in his own chest, a lump in her throat constricting all words, but honestly— what could she possibly say in response to that? She was so utterly fucked when it came to him, and she was starting to think that he knew it too. Whether or not either of them were willing to admit it.

 

She was too frightened to look into his eyes, to see the truth written all over both of their faces, her feelings a confusing garble full of a newness that shocked her. She had honestly never felt for anyone the feelings that Jon was awakening inside of her, and she had no clue how to handle it, gracefully or otherwise.

 

Targaryens didn’t love. It was simply not in their vocabulary. They dominated, they ruled, they conquered. No one, not even Rhaegar, had ever said those words to her in her entire life, and she wasn’t sure if that was what she was feeling now, but whatever it was, powerful was too small a word.

 

She opened her mouth, searching for something, anything to say in response, but only a screaming silence stood in its stead. She simply buried her face deeper into his chest, breathing him in, allowing his steadfastness to ground her, anchor them both in the swirling storm.

 

“Thank you,” her voice was small— something she would have to alter quickly, needing to reach deep and find the burgeoning dragon within, but for now— here, it was safe with him for her to be less than. To be frightened, to be unsure.

 

“Why’d you ask?”

 

She shrugged against his chest. “I didn’t want you to be angry at me anymore, and I—”

 

His chest made some sort of echoing sound, hands on her shoulders pushing her back so that he could get a good look at her face, his own gone ashen in the dying sunlight streaming in from the window. “You thought I was angry at  _ you _ ?”

 

She could feel her brow wrinkling in confusion. “Were you not?”

 

“Dany, no,” his voice held horror within it, his hands coming to cup her cheeks so she couldn’t pull away from the blaze of fire in his eyes. “I’m angry at a lot of things— this shit-arsed situation mainly, but not you. Never you.”

 

She could feel the weight that had slipped around her neck the night before fall away, her chest rising against his with the new found buoyancy. “Oh,” was the only response she could muster, her mind spinning with how she could have misread him so badly, how she couldn’t have seen the truth. “Oh.”

 

Jon’s thumbs brushed at her cheeks. “Why didn’t you say anythin’ yesterday?”

 

She could feel her face heating, her embarrassment rising. “I didn’t want to make it worse.”

 

“Fuck,” he breathed, and she nodded.

 

“Yeah.” He simply stared at her for a long moment, one hand reaching up to sweep a stray hair behind her ear before lifting her face to his, a soft but deep kiss placed on her lips, and she gladly opened herself to him, pouring everything that she couldn’t say into it, her arms winding around his neck and pulling him closer to her until she could feel their heartbeats, synced and thundering as one.

 

A knock sounded at the door and she pulled away, breathless, Jon’s pants falling against her cheek as he let his forehead rest against hers. “Just a minute,” she called, staring up into his warm eyes.

 

“Looks like it’s time,” he licked his lips, almost like he was trying to savor the taste of her kiss forever. “You ready?”

 

“Are you?” She dropped down from where she had pushed onto her toes to press herself closer to him, taking a moment to study him thoroughly. “I know I can survive whatever Vis throws at me, but he hates you now as well. You’ll be a target too.”

 

“I can handle him.”

 

She offered him a small, sad smile. “That’s what everyone thinks the first time.”

 

Another knock before Jorah’s muffled voice sounded through the thick wood. “Daenerys?”

 

“It helps if you remember playground bully rules. Don’t react. If he sees weakness, even if he’s lit out of his mind, he’ll find a way to target it. Don’t let him. I need you to be strong too.”

 

“I promise.”

 

She pulled him down for one more quick kiss— “For luck,” she breathed against his lips before catching his hand and leading him toward the door.

 

~*~*~

 

Jorah led the way across the lawn, Jon beside her with Grey bringing up the rear. He had taken her seriously when she had said that they might need backup for this confrontation. There had been some trepidation about the location for the conversation, Jon flatly refusing to allow Viserys through the doors of the manse, and so it seemed that if the mountain would not come to R'hllor, then R'hllor would go to the mountain. She knew that Robb and Doreah were both aware they were coming, and Jon assured her that Doreah had taken the extra precaution of making sure all of Viserys’ electronics had been confiscated and handed over to Tyrion for analysis.

 

The last thing they needed was for Vis to be able to give Baelish a head’s up. Perhaps there was even something incriminating on one of the devices, something they could find that would bring an end to this nightmare once and for all. Doubtful, but one never knew.

 

Jorah turned on his heel as they reached the front door, his stern eyes passing over Jon and Grey before settling on her. “Are you ready?”

 

She took a deep breath, glancing to Jon who looked relaxed and loose, letting his encouraging nod wash over her before she straightened her spine, and lifted her chin.

 

_ Fire and blood. _

 

“Ready,” she nodded, folding her hands in front of her to mask their shaking as Jorah knocked on the door. A maid greeted them directly, showing them into a dark and dank parlor, the shredded curtains pulled against any and all natural light. Dany could feel her skin start to crawl as she looked over the space, pristine not a week ago, and now it seemed that in spite of the staff’s best efforts, Vis was determined to destroy everything he could get his hands on, including himself.

 

“Jorah, make sure the entire staff is accounted for. They have the rest of the night off, with pay.” She wouldn’t leave anyone behind tonight, not one hapless maid, not Doreah, only Robb and Jorah would remain in this house with Viserys tonight, both men easily able to cow him into submission if necessary.

 

Jorah nodded and ducked out to perform her bidding, Jon’s hand finding the small of her back and leading her to a corner facing the door, standing even with her as they waited, Grey just inside the door and off to the side. Jorah ducked back in a few moments later, leaving the door open behind him and took his spot between Jon and Grey, the three of them encasing Dany in a triangle of protection.

 

She heard Viserys long before she could see him, cursing and stumbling down the stairs, Doreah’s soft voice trying to soothe. Robb entered the room first, his eyebrows drawn up, dark circles under his eyes as well, and Dany had to wonder what, exactly, Viserys had been putting him through lately— or she and Jon for that matter.

 

The brothers nodded formally at each other, Robb stopping at the corner of the desk as Vis entered with Doreah on his arm. Dany gasped at the sight of the bruise encompassing the other woman’s face, sorrow catching her like a kick to the gut. She had seen the pictures, of course, but the reality was much worse— as always. “Grey, please escort Doreah back to the manse and come right back.”

 

She obviously needed medical attention, the butterfly bandage high on her cheek reddening in the dim light.

 

“Grey,” Vis sneered, folding his arms petulantly. “Do no such thing.”

 

Dany nodded to him, and Grey gently reached out for Doreah, leading her from the room as Jon tensed beside her, closing the door behind him on the way out. She held her breath for a moment, waiting to see how Viserys would react, his eyes glassy and unfocused, but she knew from experience how little that meant, her cheek starting to throb with every heartbeat, the ghost of the last bruise he had ever given her coming to life within her.

 

“Finally come t’your senses, have you?” Vis studied her, eyes bright with anger, and something closer to hatred than she had ever seen from him before. “I hope for the staff’s sake tha’ my rooms are exactly as they were when I lef’ them, otherwise I will have seven hells worth of anger t’pay out.”

 

She had to focus to understand him, his words slurred and sloppy. “No one has touched your things, Viserys. We can arrange to have them brought here if that would make you more comfortable.”

 

It was astonishing how quickly she fell into the pattern, the niceties a necessity— even in this situation. 

 

“You little bitch.”

 

Or not.

 

She could feel Jon bristling beside her and she fought down her own subdued hurt, surprised that the name calling had any effect on her after all these years. “Oohhhhh, he doesn’ like tha’, your little Wolf, does he? Cunt.”

 

“Viserys, that’s enough.” She needed to take control before everything descended into chaos. “I’m here to speak to you about—“

 

“You’re here with your Bear, and your little Wolf, and—” he waved unsteadily in the direction Grey had just gone, “—whatever the other one is to grovel, t’beg my forgiveness, and  _ if  _ I can find it in the goodness of my heart, maybe I won’ use all of the resources at my fingertips to bury you all. Or, maybe, I’ll bury you together so tha’ Jon here can watch as I find a way t’fuck you over one las’ time.”

 

She hated the sound of Jon’s name in her brother’s mouth, despised the way Vis’ gaze had narrowed in on him, her hands clenching tightly at her middle, fighting to keep her calm and cool mask in place. She wouldn’t let him see through to her true heart— she refused. 

 

“Unless, he’s saved us some time, and  _ he’s _ already fucked you?” Dany kept her eyes on Vis, willing him to turn back to her, to keep his focus on her. She could feel Robb’s gaze flickering between them both with the accusation, but didn’t spare him a glance, knowing that Viserys sometimes just needed to wear himself out with his own ‘cleverness’. 

 

“She has a sweet little mouth, doesn’ she? Wide— nice, plump lips, excellen’ for sucking wha’ever passes for a prick from you. Jus’ like she has every other man who has ever come into her service. Jus’ ask Jorah here.”

 

Vis stumbled closer, his gait uneven, and Jon tensed, his arms dropping to his sides in readiness. “Has she let you stick it up her ass yet? T’go with the stick permanently lodged up there?” His laugh made her wince, unbearably loud in the small space. “I had assumed she was all used and dried up, having had t’whore her out so much jus’ to keep us afloat all these years. But goo’ for you! She managed to keep it  _ tight.  _ You can thank Rhaegar for tha’, Daenerys.”

 

“That is  _ enough _ , Viserys,” she snapped, her stomach turning over with his words, knowing them for the lies they were, but still feeling the sting.

 

“Oh gods,” his thin, reedy voice climbed even higher if possible, his eyes still locked on Jon. “Did you think you were fucking special? I think you did!” He crowed out a laugh, and Dany had to fight to keep her gaze on Viserys, her face getting warmer with each barb thrown at them both, Robb studying her with a newfound horror that made her skin crawl. 

 

“Dany, say what you came to say, please.” Jon’s voice was strained, his control obviously hanging on by a thread, and she swallowed tightly, reaching down deep to find her courage before she stepped forward, Jon moving right along with her.

 

“Viserys, I spoke to the Board today.” That brought him up short, his obviously addled brain struggling to track what she meant. “They were very interested to find that the state of the business was not what had been presented to them only a few weeks ago.”

 

His pasty face went another shade whiter, if possible. “Well, wha’ do I know abou’ that? Baelish is CFO, not—“

 

“Yes, Baelish. Any idea where he might be? I seem to have heard that you might have seen him in Dorne— convenient given that the last I knew the City Watch was looking for him to ask him some questions.”

 

“So wha’ if we saw him? It’s a free country, Dany. Freer than most because it’s fucking  _ Dorne _ .”

 

Her patience was rapidly fraying, so ready to be fucking done with everything. “They will find him, Viserys, and when they do, you might consider what the best option would be for you, moving forward. You can bet that Littlefinger has already made a contingency plan that, no doubt, does not include his own fall.”

 

Viserys seemed to consider that as deeply as his current state would allow before he finally drew his gaze away from Jon and back to her. “Fuck you.”

 

“No, I’m fairly certain he will find a way to fuck you instead.”

 

He lunged for her, reflexes still frighteningly fast, but Jon was ready, hooking an arm around her waist and swinging her out of harm’s way, Jorah closing in on her other side as Robb vaulted himself into the middle of the room.

 

“How  _ dare _ you,” Viserys raised a shaking hand, his finger pointing in the direction of her face. “How dare you speak to me like tha’. I am your  _ brother!  _ You do not want t’wake the dragon, Dany. _ ” _

 

Dany had to laugh at that, her gasping making it difficult to make herself understood as her body shook with laughter. It only seemed to rile Viserys more, pacing in front of them like a caged animal. “I think it’s time to put that family facade aside, don’t you?” She drew herself together, smiling sweetly at him.

 

“I guess you’re right. You were never worth anythin’ anyhow. A waste of the name Targaryen. Decent tits, better ass— he knows. But that’s abou’ it.” Jon’s arm tightened around her waist again and she fought down the urge to pat his hand in reassurance. It was time to put an end to this charade.

 

She drew herself to her full height, turning to face her brother squarely, calling to mind the faces of every person she could think of who had been harmed by Viserys to give her strength— countless maids, Doreah, the lines of children in the dust. “Viserys Targaryen, on behalf of the Board of Directors for House Targaryen, it is my duty to inform you that you have been removed as Chief Executive Officer, effective immediately. You will receive no severance, no references, and your stock portfolio has been—“

 

“You little cunt,” he screeched. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You’re nothing, and when I get my lawyer on the phone—“

 

“Your lawyer is also my lawyer, Viserys, or have you forgotten?”

 

“You’re dead.” A pall fell over the room, the air gone ice cold in a breath. “You are  _ dead _ , do you hear me? And sooner than you think, you little whore. I hope he stretches it out, I hope you suffer, I hope tha’ you—“ He lunged again, taking advantage of their shock at the sudden turn and almost managed to grab her by the hair, Jon yanking her to the side again, throwing himself in front of her as Viserys bounced off the wall directly behind them. A sickening  _ crunch  _ ripped through the room, followed by an anguished scream before he turned on them, blood pouring from his nose and covering his lips and teeth, giving his feral smile an eerie horror that shook her more than his words. 

 

“I will be the last Targaryen, Dany, and when I dance on your fucking grave—“ This time it was Robb that got between them as Viserys dove for her again, the drugs, or his own hatred spurring him on despite the witnesses.

 

“Jon, go!”

 

Jon needed no other encouragement, jerking her off her feet and half dragged, half carried her from the room as Robb and Jorah stood firm between them, Viserys trying futilely to fight past them, blood flecked spittle flying from his lips. “You’re dead, Dany. You’re nothing, and if you’re not careful, your pet Wolf is going to be just as dead beside you— I hear they dig graves large enough for two—“

 

Her blood roared to life in her ears, Vis’ voice diminishing as her world narrowed, the only sensations she could feel were Jon’s arms around her waist, pulling her from the room, his chest firm against her back. How  _ dare _ he threaten Jon. “I swear to all the gods, Viserys, if you’re behind this— if you lay one finger on him—“

 

“Dany!” Jon’s voice was an ice cold splash of water. “Don’t.”

 

Her mouth snapped shut, realizing too late the trap she had fallen into, the flames of her temper dying down as quickly as they had flared, her feet finally working with Jon instead of against him, allowing him to pull her the rest of the way from the room.

 

Her sudden flood of adrenaline crashed, all of her courage exhausted, her fire doused— only Jon’s strong arms keeping her upright as he slammed the door shut behind them, mercifully cutting off the rest of Viserys’ hateful words, though they could still hear the dull roar of rage behind them.

 

~*~*~

 

It was an odd thing, to see so much brightness around them, the setting sun casting across the vivid green of the lawn, their steps muffled as Jon kept his arms around a shaking Daenerys… or maybe it was him shaking, the black of his rage setting a shadow across the rest of the day.

 

He’d seen vile before— men turning on each other, his own chest proof of the betrayals he had lived through, but the mere thought of the putrid words Viserys had spit at his sister made Jon want to go back into the guest house, break bones, slowly, drag the other man apart—

 

“Jon.” Her quiet voice almost startled him, snapping him quickly from his violent thoughts, air crashing heavily in his lungs. “You can let me walk now.”

 

With a sudden jerk, he let go, horrified to find he had still been manhandling her across the yard, fingers automatically curling in on themselves as he let out a shuddering breath, feet freezing into place, wanting nothing more than to gather her up, soak in the smell of her lotion, find the scent under it that was all Dany and let it soothe frayed edges.

 

But they were still in sight if the guest house.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Why are you apologizing to me?” She looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, lips pulled tight. “I shouldn’t have let him—“

 

“You didn’t let him do anything.” Disgust was rolling around in his stomach, making him want to vomit all over the green, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to try and help him gain some semblance of control over himself. “Nothin’ that happened in there was your fault.”

 

Even with his eyes closed, he knew when she shifted closer, his own body wanting to welcome her. “Jon, take me inside.” The warmth of her palm tucked into the crook of his elbow. “Please.”

 

_ As if he would refuse her. _

 

His hand closing over hers, the one that wanted to go back and pummel her brother into a bloody pulp. But instead concentrated on the softness of her skin, the fragile bones under his thumb, his eyes trained on the door, their goal, ignoring the presence of Grey as the other man shadowed them back.

 

Silence surrounded them as they made their way up the steps, Dany pausing without thinking, ingrained in her now to let him go through the door first, his shoulders slumping at the sight of Dei and Doreah perched at the high table, the tea kettle starting to boil.

 

“Are you okay?” Instinct made him want to check the bruise on the face of Viserys’ now former paramour, bu t he kept a respectable distance, another wave of tiredness rolling over him at the woman’s wary glance. He was a stranger and would not encroach on her space, instead his hand sought the familiar spot of Dany’s lower back.

 

“I will be.” She flinched slightly as the kettle started to shrill, Dei rising to take care of it. “It would have been worse if your brother hadn’t been there.”

 

“I’m sorry, Doreah.” Dany’s energy was waning, he could tell by the tone of her voice, knuckles dragging up and down her spine as if he could help keep her going forward by his touch alone.

 

“Whatever for, Daenerys?” Doreah’s laugh was dry and brittle. “It’s not as if we didn’t know what he was capable of.”

 

Another surge of rage filled him, that Viserys had been terrorizing everyone for so long, the urge to throw the man bodily off the property becoming more and more difficult to ignore, especially when the low noise came from Dany’s throat— something she was probably turning into guilt.

 

“We all knew.” Dei set down the first two mugs of tea, Grey helping her move the rest until they were all placed on the table. “Might as well sit for a minute, catch our breath. You also Jon, Grey.”

 

He ushered Dany from where she seemed to be frozen into place, a gentle prod and she moved into the chair, tucking her knees up under her chin, his heart squeezing at the sight. Despite the audience, he ran his hand over her head, stepped in closer to brush his lips over her hair.

 

Doreah’s stare was worth it when Dany sighed, tension draining from her shoulders as he took a quick glance around and pulled up his chair, reminding himself that Vis was locked up in the guest house, Robb and Jorah standing a careful and heavy handed if needed, vigil.

 

“Do you have somewhere to go?” He realized as he spoke that he knew next to nothing about the woman, credentials didn’t count, wasn’t sure if she lived at the manse or somewhere else in King’s Landing. To choke down the guilt of not taking the time to find out more information about the employees, his focus solely on Dany, he took his first sip of the tea, lip curling as sweet sat on his tongue. 

 

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” Doreah shrugged. “This isn’t the worst situation I’ve been in.”

 

That filled him with sorrow, knowing the small details of the personal hells each one of the women sitting in the cold toned kitchen had been through, his fingers finding the scar on his chest, Dany’s hand closing over his when he couldn’t seem to stop rubbing it.

 

“You’re welcome to stay.” She laced her fingers through his when he turned his palm, a slight softening to his sharp edge. “I understand if you don’t want to, but we can move your room if you’d like.”

 

“Thank you.” 

 

A silence invaded the room, the sound of a ticking clock, sips of tea the only things heard for a few minutes as they all sat their in quiet reflections, turmoil still gripping him tightly, the soft grip of Dany’s fingers keeping him together. 

 

He hoped it was the same for her. 

 

“Why don’t you take the night and morning off.” Dany’s voice broke him out of his reflections, her gaze trained on her best friend. “I’ll have Irri here and the ceremony isn’t until the evening. Get out of here for a bit.”

 

“Take Grey with you.” Those words were difficult to spit out, his paranoia of Viserys, of someone still trying to kill Dany, still had him in its endless threat, but he knew he had the manpower, and the safety of the manse to give the steady man a brief break. “You’ve been here since this started. Go with her.”

 

“You don’t need me here?” Grey’s somber look turned down even more, his hand coming up to catch Dei’s as she leaned into him. 

 

“Go. If Jon says we can do without you, then we can.” Dany’s tone was firm, his thumb stroking over her wrist in appreciation, and he let himself have a moment to hope that when this was all over, he could convince her to go somewhere different from here, learn more about each other without the dark cloud casting a shadow over their light. 

 

“Doreah.” He hesitated, trying to figure out the best way to approach the subject, trying to not push or demand. “Would you like me to find someone to look at your face?” Another person to add to his list, someone under his care that had harm come to them. It sat like rot in his stomach.

 

“No.” She had softened some sitting around the table, separated from Viserys, being included in the group and not poked or prodded for details. “I know someone.” Her nails tapped a light pattern on the mug. “I think I’ll pack a few things, go stay with some friends.”

 

“You’re more than welcome to come back. Viserys will soon be gone and you’re part of the family now.”

 

_ Gods,  _ he was amazed at the give in her heart, the way she ignored her own pain to try and make sure others didn’t feel it. She was the most generous person he’d ever met, his own heart overwhelmed with the feel of it, the sweet outlined with the slight outline of panic, of realization that  _ this  _ was bigger than anything he knew was possible.

 

Silence covered them, Dei standing to gather up the empty cups, her hand giving his a slight squeeze before she let go and he forced the air through his nose, choking down the need to follow, to cover, to keep her smothered by his shadow at her back. With a quick nod, Grey moved to escort Doreah to her own room, Jon climbing to his feet, feeling awkward, unsure, as Dany and Dei rinsed dishes pressed close, the familiarity of friendship evident.

 

A beep from his pocket made him check his phone, scowling at Robb’s text informing him that repairs would need to be made to the guest house, but Viserys was officially passed out, and he and Jorah were making themselves comfortable for a long night of dangerous temper tantrums from a grown man.

 

“Bad news?” She was in front of him again, such a tiny little thing, chewing nervously on her lip.

 

With a shrug, he handed his phone over, let her read the update. He’d been upfront with her from the start and couldn’t fathom changing it now.

 

“Well, walls can be patched.”

 

“Aye.” He breathed out his relief as she stepped closer, hands fisting in his shirt as he tucked silver behind her ear. “What do you want to do now?”

 

“Sleep.” Dei leaned against the counter. “And I mean actual sleep, not what you two think it means.”

 

His face flamed even as Daenerys chuckled, her head tipping into his chest, his fingers going to the nape of her neck automatically. ”I think we can handle that.”

 

“Good. And with that, I’m going to check on Doreah and get Grey.” She moved towards the door before pausing, turning back to look at them. “You did what needed to be done, Dany. Remember that.”

 

“Don’t worry about me.” It was softly spoken. “I have no guilt about this.”

 

“Good.”

 

And with that one worded, but firm statement, Dei left, the space around them seeming to get bigger, making a shudder run through him, giving into the urge to look over his shoulder. 

 

“Let’s go upstairs.” It was almost a plea as she stared up at him. “I’ll have food sent up.”

 

“Okay.” He’d feel better behind closed doors, in the space that was becoming familiar, somewhere that they relax and freely explore, safety behind those doors. The winding halls were quiet except for the sound of their footsteps, his fingers curled into the back of her shirt as they moved forward.

 

Routine was a habit now, Dany settling against the wall while he cleared her room, made sure the window alarms were still activated before returning to the doorway, holding out a hand to pull her across the threshold.

 

A clatter from the hallway had him poking his head back out, Dany pressing in closer than she should be, his body on high alert until he recognized the maid with a serving cart, the smell of chicken reminding him how long it had been since he’d eaten.

 

“They are fast.” He turned to her, seeing her nod of agreement, wondered if she’d even stay awake long enough to finish the meal. 

 

With a surge of affection, a flutter of apprehension for their situation, he tipped her chin, gave her a soft, thorough kiss, backing off just before they were caught, leaving her pink lipped and rosy cheeked. He moved out of the way as she chatted with the woman, smiled in appreciation before they were alone, the door clicking shut, a pause in the air as silence engulfed them.

 

“Hungry?” 

 

“Aye.” He moved off the wall, settling into a chair after she did, taking his plate and tucking into his meal, trying to read the slight awkward tension coming from her, not sure what was going on, but decided not to push at her, let her mull it over in hopes that she’d come out with it on her own. 

 

It had been a savage rip in his chest when she had confessed she had thought he was angry with her, his own inability to articulate probably a leading factor in the misunderstanding and now something was off balance again, the ground under their feet fragile, no doubt made worse by the events of the day.

 

“I’ll have to thank your brother.” Her quiet voice broke him out of his brooding. “And you of course, for asking him. I don’t think I said that earlier.”

 

He shifted again, uncomfortable, torn between relief for her, guilt again for asking Robb. “You did, though you didn't need to.” It was sharper than he intended, wincing at how it sounded to his own ears and he put down his fork to reach across and cover her hand, give it a squeeze, hating himself for the shadow on her face. “Robb will probably act like he has no idea what your talkin’ about.”

 

“I’ll still say it. That was a tremendous help.”

 

Letting go of her hand, he pushed his food around a bit more, let the quiet overtake them again, the thought that she had been willing to put herself on display filling him up with an angry ripple of unfairness and finally he pushed back his chair to stand.

 

“I’m going to go clear my room, then I’ll be back.” He tried to ignore the look on her face, the one she was trying to hide and he moved over to press a kiss to the top of her head, let himself inhale the scent of her hair, try and soothe the ragged edges that had come back aggressively.

 

Inside his own room, he let out a shuddering breath, tried desperately to gather his composure back up, everything weighing heavily, and he could feel himself starting to crack under the pressure. He wasn’t sure how to explain it to Dany, knowing somehow she would think it  _ her  _ fault when the fault lay completely within him. His hands curled into fists as he dropped to the edge of his bed, concentrating on the air moving in and out of his lungs, hoping he didn’t drown in his anxiety.

 

It was almost over, he reminded himself. They had the ceremony to get through and then he could lock her away in the manse, push and prod at Tyrion to light a fire under his PI, sit down with all their information and try to solve this, try and get her out from underneath the threat of death, try and get them to a place where they could just  _ be. _

 

But first he had to push them through this, needed to remember to stay alert, vigilant, try and hold onto the fraying ends of what was in his control. It seemed less and less with each passing day, the steady chill of nerves tickling his backbone, a foreign feeling to his normally steady head.

 

The faint sound of plates and silverware came through the not fully shut door and rubbing a hand over his face, he made himself climb back to his feet, feeling remorse at practically fleeing her room.  _ Fuck,  _ he was an idiot.

 

Giving a cursory knock in case Marei was there picking up their plates, he pushed the door open to an empty room, panic a hard slap to the face at not seeing Dany at her little table, moving swiftly through the door frame, his heart in his throat until the sound of running water registered, making him pause, the high alert releasing from his muscles.

 

She was sitting on the edge of her tub, scooping up bubbles as the water line rose, hair piled on top of her head, the silver almost through, the familiarity of it making him want to smile even if he’d think  _ very  _ fondly of the time spent while she was a brunette.

 

“Couldn’t find you for a minute.” He could hear the strain in his voice, somber blue eyes met his and he felt it echo in his chest. “Scared me.”

 

“I thought I’d try soaking away the day.” She turned the water off and climbed off her perch, slipping out of the red robe, angling her chin up as she hung it up. His mouth began to water, a conditioned response at all the skin on display. “Join me?”

 

He might be an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid enough to refuse an offer like that, and reminded himself he’d not be acting on the lust brewing within him as he slipped his gun out its holster. He watched as she settled into the water with a hiss and a moan, dropping his clothes where he stood, ignoring her raised eyebrow at his untidiness to pad across the tile, enjoying the hungry look in her eyes as he came to stand by the tub.

 

“Hands to yourself, Targaryen. You’re wearing me out.”

 

She snorted at that, and sank a little lower into the steam and bubbles, the heat making him curse as he climbed in, leaning forward to kiss her, parting her lips easily, letting his tongue curl around hers until she was pliant and soft, easy for him to drag around on the slippery surface until she was back against his chest, her hair tickling his nose. 

 

“There.” Pressing a kiss behind her ear, he let his hands cup her ribcage, moving with the pattern of her breathing and leaned back, keeping her tight against him, let the warmth of the water, of her, seep inside of him, break down the anxiety that had been building. “This is actually pretty nice.”

 

Tipping her head back, she gave him a small smile, his fingers flexing against her for just a moment. “Not much of a bath man, are you?”

 

It was his turn to smile against her teasing tone, hands sweeping up enough to let his thumbs brush the side of her breasts, teasing them both, just because he could, because it would distract them both. “Apparently I can be convinced.”

 

“Behave, Jon Snow.” She shivered against his touch. “Isn’t that what you told me?”

 

“Aye.” He let his hands slip back down, felt her relax against him as they lapsed into another silence, the only sound their breathing and the occasional drip of the faucet.

 

It was easy to ignore everything when they were like this, the weight of the situation pushed to the side with Dany gathered in his arms, safe and sound, only their thoughts there to remind them of the horrible complexity of it all. So he ignored the rage that still silently brewed within him, the itch of disgust over his skin from Viserys’ hate and concentrated on Dany’s fingers moving idly on his legs, the flowery scent of her bubble bath invading his senses.

 

At some point she fell asleep, a small pang of amusement outweighed by the frustration that they were both running themselves ragged and he stayed there, wrapping an arm around her middle to keep her upright, not willing to disturb her until he absolutely had to.

 

All too soon the falling temperature of the water had him shifting below her sleeping form. “Dany.” He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, brushed his cheek against hers. The brief thought of just scooping her up crossed his mind, but with everything being wet and slick, he decided against it. “Dany, we need to go to bed.

 

A sleepy hum came from her before her head lifted, his heart rolling sluggishly at the wrinkle of confusion on her forehead, her bearings lost for a moment as she looked around. “I fell asleep?”

 

“Aye, ya did.” He helped her stand, handing her a towel as they stepped out. “Snoring so loud I think all King’s Landing heard it.”

 

Her mouth pursed at him, waking up his lust again, unashamed at how his libido was tied to her lips. “You’re not funny.”

 

“I’ve been told that before.” He ushered them out of her bathroom, grabbing only his gun as he went, moving with her as she led them into his room, the bed beckoning them closer, pulling back the covers in time for her to drop her towel and crawl into the sheets.

 

Wordlessly he followed, ignoring the fact they both still were damp as she rolled into him, letting him gather her up, her fingers digging into his skin as she moved as close as she could, her sigh of contentment the last thing he heard before he fell asleep.

 

~*~*~

 

Panic had his throat closed as he woke, gasping into the morning air as he blinked himself into awareness, his body registered hers beside him, the dark struggling to keep him in its clutches next to her light.

 

The nightmare left a bad taste in his mouth, the mocking, victorious voice of Viserys taunting him, Dany broken and bleeding at her brother’s feet, his own helplessness chasing him into wakefulness.

 

With a shuddering breath, he tried to relax again, turning his head enough to brush his lips across her forehead, her nose scrunching up at the contact but those dark lashes never fluttered, causing him to smile. 

 

She had been restless the previous night, still flooded with Viserys’ negative energy, tossing and turning, leaving him helpless against her monsters, a soothing hand and rough voice pulling her from her own tormented dreams time and time again. Now the sun streamed brightly in through his blinds, far later in the morning than he normally slept. 

 

Gods, he was exhausted, needing a night where they weren’t chased relentlessly out of sleep, and the urge to roll back over, close his eyes, was overwhelming. But he couldn’t, so he slipped from the bed, wanting her to get all the rest she could and padded quietly into the bathroom, needing the distance to keep himself from reaching for her, for using her to chase away his dark thoughts, mind already starting to whirl as he climbed into the shower, buried his head under the spray of water.

 

There was so much to think about with the awards ceremony that night, her going toe to toe with her brother,  _ his  _ need to sit down and talk to his own brother, explain to Robb why he’d crossed the line, defensiveness already starting to build inside of him at the thought of it.

 

He wanted this to be over with. A mad man caught and justice served, let some calm seep back into their lives, let him and Daenerys figure out  _ them _ without the shadow covering everything.

 

A click of the door and a cool breeze was his warning before a body was pressed to his back, his heart giving an extra thump in response, her arms winding around him, the flat of her cheek pressed between his shoulder blades, the touch of her scattering his thoughts away.

 

“You left me out there by myself.”

 

He could hear the pout in her voice and he caught the hand flat against his stomach, pulling it up to press a kiss to her fingers before turning in her arms, shifting them around in the small space so she could share the water. “I thought you could use more sleep.”

 

Fingers were flexing into his back as he cupped her cheek, the warmth of emotion flooding through his as she nuzzled into it, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. That soft look in her eye helped ramp down some of the frustration inside him, some of the unease they were wading through.

 

“I think getting to share the shower with you makes up for the lack of sleep.”

 

“Sweet talker.” He thumbed over her bottom lip, the image from his dream coming suddenly and unwelcome to his mind almost making him jolt, his heart freezing, hand faltering for just a moment before he tried to shove it away, bring himself back to the moment.

 

But she caught it, the brightness in her eyes going dim, and he closed his own in frustration, his fumbling around her making him want to hit something.

 

“Jon.” There was a hesitation in her voice that almost broke him. “We didn’t talk about some of the things Vis said last night.”

 

The laugh was brittle in his throat, a poor cover for the rage, but not at her, never for her. “I don’t think we need to.”

 

“I think we do.” Her arms dropped to her sides and she stepped back as much as the small space allowed. “What he said about me and my past security…”

 

“Gods, fuck, Dany.” He cupped her elbows in horror, the fact that she thought  _ he  _ needed an explanation making his stomach turn. “A lie, the truth, that doesn’t matter to me.” He wanted desperately to pull her closer, but needed her to make that move. “That doesn’t fit here with us right now. For the record, I don’t believe him, but whoever is in your past doesn’t matter to me, because we are in the right now.”

 

She came back into his arms and he gave into the full blown addiction, the need to drop his head, meld his lips to hers, feel the softness part and give, his hand sliding to settle on her neck, the other scooping her closer until it was hard to say where his skin ended and hers began.

 

When they parted, he kept his forehead pressed to hers, the hiss of the shower muffling his heavy breathing, the tips of her eyelashes wet, hand skimming down over the curve of her hip and she made a noise in the back of her throat, something that fed the animal inside of him, a sudden bite and her lower lip between his teeth.

 

He wanted to erase the damage from her brother’s words, the attempt to cheapen the feelings between them and he didn’t know how to say it, but he could  _ show  _ her, his blood was already racing, his fingers stroking over more skin, tongue sliding deep as she melted into him, already under his thrall.

 

With an urgency he dropped to his knees, needing her mind and senses filled with him before he filled her and he ignored the hard floor under his knees or her squeak of surprise when he pushed her against the cold wall. But she was rallying quickly, thigh moving to the side to allow him access and he pushed it a little more, leaned in close.

 

Another craving of his in front of him, thumb pressing into the white skin of her inner thigh, a contrast to the flushed pink of her cunt, shining and plump with her arousal, the tip of his tongue touching his upper lip and she wriggled her hips, a small hand sliding through his wet hair.

 

_ Greedy little dragon,  _ was on the tip of his tongue, but instead of words, he put his mouth to her, tasting her essence, spelling his thoughts out with long licks, gentle flicks, her heavy sighs of enjoyment barely heard over his own.

 

A careful hand had him helping her put a thigh over his shoulder, allowing him more room to suckle and manipulate sensitive flesh, her nails digging into his scalp with the pitch increase of her whines, two fingers parting folds, sinking into her, crooking and rubbing as he bumped at her nub, keeping contact light until she was built up enough to withstand him eating with zeal, his own patience and need pushing desperately at his control, encouraging him to  _ take, take, take. _

 

He didn’t have to ignore his wants for long, caught with enjoyment of her flavor in his mouth, her unintelligible words of praise, making him push a little harder, fingers squelching in her wet heat, clit caught gently to hold against the precise onslaught of his tongue and her legs went shaky, body tightening with her release and he flared with satisfaction, his name being cried out from her lips and she shuddered against his hold.

 

She was wrecked and panting when he pulled away, her hands falling limply to her sides and he made sure she was steady— even if slumped— against the wall before he stood, wincing as his knees unlocked, dragging his nose up her heaving belly and chest, nipping at one tightened nipple, than the other, listening to her whine with the stimulation.

 

Fingers dragged over his shoulders, her claws out with a bite into flesh, making him a little more mindless as he reached his full height, dragging her back up to tug on her hair, pull her head back to ravish her mouth, giving an edge to his reckless need, not breaking away from her mouth as he got a good hold of her, hitching a thigh over his hips.

 

Eyelashes fluttered with a whine when he took his cock in hand, found the heat of her, slid into her still pulsing cunt, giving a light grind with his hips as he notched himself in as deep as he could go. Feeling her tense around him, he held still, letting her adjust, waiting until he could see her eyes open and focus.

 

“Okay?” It might be too much, his selfish arse didn’t even think about the fact he’d been ravishing her at every opportunity.

 

“Okay.” She bit her lip for a moment, taking a deep breath, nose pushing into his. “Maybe slow for a minute.”

 

He grabbed her other leg, slid her up the wall a little higher. “Aye.” Placed a light kiss to that succulent mouth. “Let me know if it’s too much.” He’d never forgive himself if he turned it from pleasure to pain.

 

“Oh, gods.” She arched into him as he began slowly. “I don’t think it could ever be too much.”

 

A hand fisted in his hair and he knew the feeling, the never getting enough of her, the need to stay buried inside of her forever, the water pouring over the two of them as he set up his careful rhythm, a dull rush in his ears as flames crawled over his skin, igniting, her cunt so squeezing tight and welcoming that he used his weight to hold her to the wall, hands full of her lovely arse to keep an angle that allowed him to sink deep into her, over and over and over.

 

She was climbing again, that extra hitch in her breath giving her away and he went a little harder, a little faster, the knot inside of him expanding, the sound of coupling flesh filling the small area. When she fell, clenching around him in waves, he held her tight, allowing himself to be dragged along, willing and consumed, eyes closed against the sensations of release, the feel of her against him, her ragged breathing in his ear and he savored it all, let it seep deep within him to keep forever.

 

“Mmmm.” Regretfully, he pulled out of her, helped her stand and pushed wet hair out of her eyes, thrilled to see the shadow gone from her face. “Now, aren’t you glad I joined you.”

 

_ Fuck,  _ this woman tangled him up, his heart soaring, his chuckle warm in his chest as he cupped her face. “Aye, very glad.”

 

That satisfied smile turning her lips up, he had to catch with his own, lingering for a moment before pulling away, stepping back, giving them some room as he adjusted the cooling water, handed her soap, let her lather up before quickly doing the same, helped wash the suds from her as she laughed, his fingers finding her ticklish spots, the wicked look in her eyes when it was his turn, her hands dragging heavily over his back, his arse, her teeth setting sharply in his chest.

 

“C’mon.” There was a shine back in her eyes, the ache in his heart easing up and he leaned over her to turn the water off, reaching out for towels, watching fascinated as she twisted her hair up in one, snatched his out of his hands and wrapped it around herself. He pretended to grumble as he reached for another, hands still pulling the towel around him as she stepped back into his space.

 

The air was cool when they left the shower, the ground under his feet a little steadier and he knew that sex wasn’t going to make everything dragging on them go away, that they’d need to sit down and have a real conversation about bruises and scars very soon, but it was enough for now to set it aside, to reach out and give a healthy slap to her arse, watch her jump and squeal, her face turn red as the handprint under the treatment.

 

“Jon!” 

 

She looked scandalized, her voice holding an interesting hitch that made him curious, a note for the back of his mind, so he just winked at her, ignoring his phone vibrating on the nightstand, letting himself turn serious once again.

 

“Hey.” He caught her wrist and dropped to the edge of the bed, the tangled sheets behind him holding their scent and pulled her to stand between his legs, hands settling on her hips, needing to be serious again. “I’m not a fan of Viserys going today.” That was an understatement and he was hoping he could keep his rage on a short leash. “But, I heard the Board’s decision. I’m keeping Robb and Jorah on him, maybe they can threaten him into keeping’ his fucking mouth shut.” 

 

He closed his eyes for a moment as she threaded her fingers through his wet hair, his phone starting up again but he was too occupied to be bothered to look at it, needing to be reassured, to reassure, he wasn’t sure which. “I need to know, are you going to be okay today?” 

 

“Yes. Jon—“ there was a tug in his hair as she flinched, his spine straightening in response, angry about everything he couldn’t control. “—it will be fine. I won’t even see him until we are in the car.”

 

His phone started up again and he thought about throwing it across the room, eyes shifting over to it before back to her, an idea coming to him and he didn’t know why he didn’t think of it before. “No, you won’t, he’ll be taking his own car.”

 

Surprise flickered across her face, something else he couldn’t quite decipher, her mouth softening in relief and he knew it was the right call, her bravery straining at the task of pushing away her last bit of family, and he’d do anything to help her stand against it all. “Dany—“ 

 

He stood up to pull her in, her hands cupping the back of his neck, her towel getting close to falling and he gripped her hips, adjusted, giving himself a moment to press his lips to her temple, keep her there for as long as she’d allow.

 

A sudden knock at his door startled him, her body stiffening at his reaction and he froze for a moment to hear his brother's voice, loud and panicked. 

 

“Jon! Fuck! Are you in there?”

 

His mind scrambled, fingers flexing against the curve of her, trying to figure out  _ what  _ could be the problem but before he could answer, move,  _ anything,  _ the door was swinging open, and he couldn’t fucking believe he forgot to lock it, Robb busting through, wide eyed. 

 

“Jon! Nobody can find Daenerys—“

 

~*~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, y’all.

**Author's Note:**

> As some of you may have picked up— this story is loosely based on the 1992 classic, The Bodyguard. 
> 
> We hope you enjoyed The start of what we hope will be a fun, dark, sexy romp! Let us know what you think!


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